-LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.   JOHN  C...JIQSE. 

donor 


THE  GREEN   BAY  TREE 


A   TALE  OF  TO-DAY 


W.   H.   WILKINS 

(W.  H.  DsWINTON) 

AUTHOR  OF   "  ST.  MICHAEL'S   KVK,"    "  THE   FORBIDDEN   SACRIFICE,"  ETC 


SOMETIME  EDITOR  OF    IHk    "  WMIUrWDUfc" 


NEW  YORK 
J.  SELWJN  TAIT  &  SONS 

65  FIFTH  AVENUE. 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
J.  SELWIN  TAIT  &  SONS. 


P REF A CE 


"  I  my  self  have  seen  the  ungodly  in  great  power :  and 
flourishing  like  a  green-bay  tree." 

PSALM  XXXVII.  v.  36. 

Prayer-book  version. 

"  They  come  in  no  misfortune  like  other  folk :  neither 
are  they  plagued  like  other  men." 

"  Lo,  these  are  the  ungodly ,  these  prosper  in  the  world, 
and  these  have  riches  in  possession." 

PSALM LXXIII.  v.  5  &  v.  12. 

Prayer-book  version. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


Chapters  I,  V,  X,  XI,  XII,  XIII ;  pars  :  1—8  and  11—58  of 
Chapter  IV  ;  pars  :  1—36  and  45—50  of  Chapter  VIII,  and 
pars  :  1—11  and  21—30  of  Chapter  IX,  and  Chapters  XV, 
XVI,  XX,  XXI,  XXII,  XXIII,  XXIV,  XXXI,  XXXII, 
XXXIII,  XXXIV,  XXXVIII,  XXXIX,  XL,  and  I/ENVOI, 
are  written  by  MR.  W.  H.  WILKINS. 

Chapters  II,  III,  VI,  VII,  XIV ;  pars  :  9—10  and  59—126  of 
Chapter  IV  ;  pars  :  37—44  of  Chapter  VIII,  and  pars  :  12—20 
of  Chapter  IX,  and  Chapters  XVII,  XVIII,  XIX,  XXV, 
XXVI,  XXVII,  XXVIII,  XXIX,  XXX,  XXXV,  XXXVI, 
XXXVII,  are  written  by  MR.  HERBERT  VIVIAN. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    HIS  BEST  FRIEND 1 

II.   HARROW-ON-THE-HILL 9 

III.  THE  SCAPEGOAT 20 

IV.  CAMBRIDGE 38 

V.   GWENDOLEN 52 

VI.   THE  APOSTLES 65 

VII.    IN  THE  MAY  WEEK 76 

VIII.   THE  FIRST  TRINITY  BALL 86 

IX.   A  UNION  DEBATE 93 

X.   THE  BOUNDER  KING 98 

XI.   ELLE  ET  LUI 106 

XII.   COTTENHAM 112 

XIII.  AT  HER  FEET  HE  BOWED  AND  FELL 122 

XIV.  THE  TRUMP  CARD 127 

XV.   THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEURS 136 

XVI.   A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL 149 

XVII.   A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  UP-TO-DATE 163 

XVIII.   IN  THE  CONSERVATORY 171 

XIX.   THE  MELTING  OF  THE  ICE-MAIDEN 180 

XX.   A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION 189 

XXI.    AT  THE  LEVEE 201 

XXII.   MRS.  MILES'S  SEASON 206 

XXIII.  THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PROFESSOR 212 

XXIV.  HENLEY  REGATTA 220 

XXV.   THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE 232 

XXVI.   THE  LORD  WARDEN 244 

XXVII.    THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 254 

XXVIII.   THE  WANING  HONEYMOON 262 

XXIX.    THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON. .  ,                                                    .  269 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX.  THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PIGEON 278 

XXXI.  THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN 286 

XXXII.  FLIGHT 297 

XXXIII.  THE  REWARD  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS 307 

XXXIV.  THE  SPROUTING  OF  THE  BAY  TREE 318 

XXXV.  THE  WEST-SOUTHWARK  ELECTION 324 

XXXVI.  GRUB-STREET,  W.C 331 

XXXVII.  THE  CROWN  OF  BAY-LEAVES 346 

XXXVIII.  THE  SORROWS  OF  SANCTITY 359 

XXXIX.  THE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN 368 

XL.  THE  LAST  STAGE 380 

L'ENVOI..  .  388 


THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HIS    BEST    FRIEXD. 

The  two  greatest  stimulants  in  the  world  are  youth  and  debt. 
— B.  DISKAELI:  Tancred. 

WHEN"  the  Right  Honorable  Spencer  Coryton  lay 
a-dying,  he  beckoned  his  son  to  his  bedside  and  whis- 
pered, 

"  Remember  always  that  your  best  friend  is  yourself." 

The  next  morning  the  city  of  Bristol  had  lost  its 
senior  Parliamentary  representative  and  the  post  of 
Judge- Advocate-General  was  vacant. 

Walpole  Coryton  pondered  much  over  his  father's 
words,  and  the  more  he  thought  over  them  the  more 
did  they  commend  themselves  to  him.  The  late  Judge- 
Advocate-General  had  certainly  illustrated  his  theory 
by  his  example.  Taken  as  a  whole  his  had  been  a  fort- 
unate life,  and  he  had  himself  to  thank  that  it  had 
been  so.  He  was  a  self-made  man,  who  owed  most  of 
the  good  things  which  had  come  in  his  way  to  his  own 
cool  head  and  his  absolute  indifference  to  the  feelings 
of  others.  A  scholarship  had  carried  him  from  a  York- 
shire grammar  school  to  one  of  the  smaller  Oxford  col- 
leges and,  when  there,  his  wits  had  done  the  rest.  He 
took  his  degree,  was  called  to  the  Bar  and,  with  a  little 
money  in  hand,  went  on  the  Western  Circuit.  He 
picked  up  a  brief  or  two,  now  and  then  a  good  one,  did 
a  little  "  devilling,"  and  bided  his  time. 

1 


2  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

He  might  have  bided  a  very  long  time,  had  not  great 
good  fortune  thrown  him  in  the  way  of  the  worthy 
Miss  Graves  at  a  Clifton  Subscription  Ball.  Miss 
Graves  was  the  orphan  daughter  and  heiress  of  a 
Bristol  mustard-maker,  who  might  have  died  a  mill- 
ionaire, the  Bristol  people  said,  if  he  had  lived  a  little 
longer.  But  he  did  not,  and  so  his  daughter  was  left 
only  comfortably  off.  Still,  Miss  Graves  was  rich 
enough  to  live  in  a  commodious  villa  overlooking  the 
breezy  Clifton  downs,  to  drive  a  gaudy  yellow  chariot 
known  in  the  neighborhood  as  "  the  mustard  pot,"  to 
subscribe  liberally  to  the  local  charities,  and  to  keep  a 
"  sheep-dog,"  as  Becky  Sharp  would  say,  for  propriety's 
sake — in  this  case  an  elderly  spinster  cousin. 

Miss  Graves  \vas  not  without  aspirations,  if  short  of 
aspirates.  She  had  a  soul  above  mustard,  and  delib- 
erately avoided  the  smelly  old  Redcliffe  Street,  where 
all  her  money  had  been  made ;  she  had  a  soul,  too, 
above  the  gilded  youth  of  Bristol  and  Clifton  "  society  " 
who,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  for  the  most  part  de- 
cidedly provincial  in  their  manners  and  their  bearing. 
She  was  a  woman  of  correct  principles  and  correspond- 
ingly stupid.  She  occupied  sittings — wrell  to  the  front 
—at  the  Evangelical  Church  of  St.  Jude's,  and  was 
thought  very  highly  of  by  the  parochial  clergy.  Prob- 
ably she  would  have  ended  by  marrying  one  of  them — 
fifty  per  cent,  of  the  daughters  of  the  well-to-do  Bristol 
merchants  marry  clergymen,  it  is  so  "  genteel " — had 
not  fate  thrown  her  across  the  path  of  that  good-look- 
ing young  barrister,  Spencer  Coryton. 

Spencer  Coryton  saw  his  opportunity  and  made 
the  most  of  it.  Things  were  going  rather  hardly 
with  him  just  then  and  time  did  not  permit  of  a  pro- 
tracted wooing.  The  lover  was  arduous,  the  lady 
was  not  coy.  He  ascertained  her  nett  market  value. 
On  the  credit  side,  there  was  a  little  over  two  thou- 
sand a  year;  to  her  debit  were  the  facts  that  she 
was  plain  and  past  her  first  bloom.  She  was,  in 
short,  like  home-made  bread,  heavy  but  wholesome. 
But  then  he  had  nothing  at  all,  except  his  good  looks, 
his  glib  tongue,  and  his  bright  brains.  Brains  were 
not  quite  so  much  at  a  discount  then  as  they  are  now. 


HIS  BEST  FRIEND.  3 

The  market  was  not  so  overstocked.  Now  all  the 
young  men  are  so  very  clever  that  a  stupid  one  is 
quite  at  a  premium.  But  this  in  parenthesis. 

Spencer  Coryton  thought  it  over  and  the  lady 
thought  it  over ;  that  is  to  say  he  thought  it  over 
for  her,  for  her  mind  was  receptive  and  not  readily 
given  to  new  ideas.  So  Miss  Graves  very  decorously 
"  fell  in  love."  She  was  dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of 
this  young  barrister,  his  conversation  opened  a  new 
vista  upon  her  limited  horizon.  She  began  to  think 
that  to  be  a  barrister's  wife  would  be  quite  as  "  gen- 
teel "  as  to  be  the  wife  of  a  clergyman,  and  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  Member  of  Parliament — for  he  had 
confided  to  her  his  ambitious  dreams — almost  aristo- 
cratic. Within  a  few  months  of  their  first  meeting 
at  the  Clifton  Ball  these  two  were  wed. 

Two  thousand  a  year  is  only  two  thousand  a  year 
after  all,  though  it  assumes  different  aspects  from  the 
point  of  view  one  looks  at  it.  It  does  not  go  far, 
if  one  has  large  ideas.  Spencer  Coryton  had  large 
ideas,  though  he  had  been  taught  by  experience  how 
to  make  one  sovereign  do  the  work  of  two  better 
than  most  men,  and  his  wife,  with  her  inherited  com- 
mercial instinct,  could  almost  make  one  do  the  work 
of  three.  Her  stupidity  was  only  with  regard  to 
abstract  ideas ;  such  concrete  matters  as  butchers'  and 
bakers'  bills  she  grasped  with  remarkable  quickness. 

"Within  a  year  or  two  of  his  marriage,  through 
his  wife's  local  connection  and  influence — her  father 
had  been  an  Alderman  and  Mayor  of  his  native  city — 
Spencer  Coryton  entered  Parliament  as  one  of  the 
Conservative  Members  for  Bristol  and,  when  once  he 
was  in,  he  was  not  turned  out  again.  With  the 
magic  letters  M.  P.  added  to  his  name,  the  Member 
for  Bristol  contrived,  by  "guinea-pigging,"  floating 
Companies  and  other  means  known  to  impecunious 
Members  of  Parliament,  to  add  materially  to  his 
income.  Still,  appearances  had  to  be  kept  up — more 
was  required  of  public  men  in  those  days  than  now — 
and  it  required  very  careful  management  to  make 
both  ends  meet. 

So  long    as    Mrs.    Coryton    lived,   they   did   meet 


4  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

somehow,  but  when  she  died,  some  ten  years  after 
their  marriage,  leaving  her  husband  with  an  only 
son,  he  gave  himself  wider  scope  and,  on  the  principle 
that,  as  one  can  only  live  once,  one  may  as  well 
enjoy  oneself,  he  began  to  dip  into  his  capital. 

It  was  not  all  enjoyment,  though,  for,  like  many 
other  astute  men,  he  speculated  and,  despite  astuteness, 
lost.  He  was  far  too  much  mixed  up  with  bubble 
companies  not  to  be  bitten  with  the  gambling  mania. 
Still,  taking  his  life  as  a  whole  and  looking  at  it 
from  a  purely  selfish  point  of  view,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  he  got  a  good  deal  of  enjoyment  out 
of  it. 

He  rented  a  well-appointed  little  house  in  St.  James's 
Place — which  in  those  days  was  not  so  much  given 
over  to  the  lodging-house  fiend  as  it  is  now — one  of 
the  little  houses  which  cast  a  backward  glance  over 
the  Green  Park;  he  belonged  to  all  the  best  clubs, 
he  stayed  at  many  of  the  best  country  houses,  he 
did  a  little  racing  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  and  he 
flattered  and  dined  all  the  wealthy  and  leading  men 
of  his  party. 

In  the  party  he  was  known  as  a  useful  man,  and 
a  "  useful  man "  in  politics  is  generally  the  one  who 
does  the  dirty  work.  He  was  great  in  the  party  Caucus 
and  well  known  as  a  popular  platform  speaker,  an 
astute  wire-puller,  and  one  who  could  trim  his  sails  to 
the  passing  wind.  His  was  not  the  highest  form  of 
statesmanship  perhaps,  but  it  was  very  useful  to  those 
who  worship  at  the  shrine  of  the  Jumping  Cat.  The 
conservative  leaders  were  well  disposed  towards  him, 
and  the  Dukes  and  the  moneyed  men  regarded  him 
with  patronizing  friendship.  When  his  party  at  last 
emerged  from  the  cold  shades  of  Opposition  to  the  sun- 
shine of  Office,  he  was  rewarded  with  the  minor  post 
of  Judge- Advocate-General— so  called,  say  some,  because 
the  man  who  holds  it  is  neither  a  Judge  nor  an  Advo- 
cate nor  a  General — and  there  was  a  Privy  Councillor- 
ship  along  with  it. 

Spencer  Coryton  swore  not  loud  but  deep,  for,  like 
all  men  of  his  type,  he  thought  himself  worthy  of 
Cabinet-office  at  least.  But  half  a  loaf  is  better  than 


HIS  BEST  FRIEND.  5 

no  bread,  and  he  took  what  was  offered  in  the  spirit 
with  which  it  was  given  and  comforted  himself  with 
the  thought  that  this  added  dignity  would  stave  off  his 
creditors  for  a  while.  "To  him  that  hath  shall  be 
given  "  is  the  rule  in  political  life — and  in  everything 
else  as  well,  for  the  matter  of  that.  The  new  Judge- 
Advocate-General  knew  this — no  one  better — and  he 
was  far  too  shrewd  a  man  to  flaunt  his  poverty. 

"  To  be  poor  is  a  misfortune,  to  look  poor  is  a  crime," 
he  would  say  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  to  breakfast 
in  the  dining-room  of  his  cosy  little  house  in  St. 
James's  Place,  after  throwing  a  heap  of  unopened  bills 
upon  the  fire.  Half  an  hour  later  he  would  whirl  away 
in  his  spick-and-span  brougham  to  attend  to  his  official 
duties  or  a  board-meeting  of  some  Company  of  which 
he  was  Chairman  or  a  Committee-Meeting  at  the  House, 
faultlessly  dressed,  alert,  smiling,  as  though  there  were 
no  such  things  as  bills  or  creditors  in  the  world. 

Acting  consistently  on  these  lines,  he  managed  to 
live  in  luxury  and  comfort,  honored  and  envied  among 
men,  until  the  day  of  his  death.  What  the  future 
might  bring,  what  would  happen  if  any  of  his  many 
wires  became  tangled,  what  might  become,  after  his 
death,  of  his  only  son,  then  a  boy  at  Harrow,  he  neither 
knew  nor  cared. 

"  He  has  his  wits  as  I  have  mine.  Why  should  I 
trouble  about  him,  he  has  never  troubled  about  me," 
he  would  probably  have  said,  if  any  one  had  ventured 
to  remonstrate  with  him  about  his  son. 

But  no  one  remonstrated,  for  none  troubled  and  none 
cared. 

A  chill  contracted  at  a  political  meeting  carried  off 
Spencer  Coryton  rather  suddenly  and,  when  the  morn- 
ing papers  announced  his  death  and  the  Times  dis- 
missed the  late  Judge-Advocate-General  with  a  brief 
obituary  notice,  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  who 
read  it  at  their  breakfast-tables,  said,  "  Poor  fellow,  I 
wonder  who  will  get  his  place,"  and  went  on  with  their 
breakfasts. 

That  was  his  requiem — the  tribute  of  his  friends. 
He  had  not  many  of  them,  for  a  man  who  goes  on  the 
principle  that  he  is  himself  his  best  friend,  is  not  likely 


6  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

to  be  over-blessed  with  others.  And  when,  a  few  days 
later,  it  ran  round  the  Clubs  that  he  had  left  his  affairs 
in  an  embarrassed  state,  the  men  who  had  eaten  his 
dinners  shook  their  heads  and  remarked  sententiously 
that  it  was  very  wrong  for  a  man  to  live  beyond  his 
means  and  that  they  for  their  part  always  feared  there 
was  something  not  quite  straight  about  him :  he  was 
far  too  much  mixed  up  with  doubtful  Companies,  etc., 
etc.,  and  so  on  through  all  the  other  variations  of  that 
"  I  told  you  so,"  with  which  wise  nieii  of  the  world  are 
so  prone  to  be  wise  after  the  event. 

"  There  is  a  son'  isn't  there?"  said  one  or  two,  "I 
wonder  what  will  become  of  him?" 

But  very  few  gave  more  than  a  passin'g  thought  to 
the  youth,  who,  in  the  darkened  house  in  St.  James's 
Place,  was  making  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
world's  hardness  and  meanness. 

The  "  friends  "  who  had  known  the  dead  man  best 
shunned  the  house,  as  though  it  had  been  plague- 
stricken,  and  most  of  them  now  forgot  all  about  him 
and  his  son  too.  But  Walpole  Coryton  and  the  law- 
yers unravelled  everything  between  them,  and  when 
that  was  done,  the  son  found  that  the  father  had  left 
him  nothing  but  his  debts. 

It  was  not  exactly  a  promising  state  of  affairs,  but 
the  younger  Coryton  was  not  one  to  indulge  hi  useless 
lamentations  and  vain  regrets.  An  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  taught  him  to  put  a  bold  face  on  it  and 
to  try  to  hide  as  much  as  possible  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs  from  the  world.  Things  might  have  been 
worse,  for  he  discovered  that  he  had  £4,000,  a  legacy 
left  him  by  a  cousin  of  his  mother's,  the  principal  of 
which  his  father  had  been  unable  to  touch. 

The  ideal  son  would,  of  course,  have  sacrificed  this 
to  pay  his  father's  debts  and  gone  forth  penniless 
into  the  world.  But  Walpole  was  not  an  ideal  son,  he 
was  simply  the  son  of  his  father  and,  mindful  of  his 
dying  advice,  he  kept  the  £4,000  in  his  own  pocket.  He 
had,  in  fact,  some  little  debts  of  his  own,  but  he  didn't 
mean  to  settle  them  either,  at  least  if  he  could  help  it. 
The  events  of  the  past  few  weeks  had  taught  him 
more  than  ever  the  value  of  that  touchstone  of  modern 
life — ready  money. 


HIS  BEST  FRIEND.  7 

So  the  late  Judge- Advocate-General's  affairs  settled 
themselves,  and  both  they  and  he  were  soon  forgotten. 

When  all  was  over,  Walpole  Coryton  sat  down  to 
survey  the  situation  and  to  sketch  out  his  plan  of 
campaign. 

Matters  stood  thus  :  He  was  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses his  own  master.  The  fifteen  months  or  so,  which 
had  elapsed  since  he  left  Harrow,  had  been  spent 
abroad.  His  father  had  sent  him  to  Heidelberg,  osten- 
sibly to  learn  languages,  in  reality  to  get  him  out  of 
the  way.  He  made  an  excuse  for  not.  sending  him  to 
Cambridge  or  Oxford,  the  true  reasoc  being  that  he 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  give  him  the  money  to  go. 

Walpole  Coryton  knew  this  and,  when  his  father's 
death  left  him  free  to  choose  what  to  do  with  his 
£4,000,  he  resolved  to  spend  part  of  it  on  a  University 
education.  He  would  carry  out  his  original  intention 
and  go  up  to  Cambridge.  He  chose  Cambridge,  like 
everything  else,  for  a  reason.  Upon  calculation  he 
found  that  most  of  his  Harrow  friends — certainly  those 
who  were  most  likely  to  be  useful — were  there  now. 
Arguing  to  himself  that  it  is  no  use  having  friends 
unless  one  can  make  use  of  them,  he  resolved  to  go  up 
to  Cambridge  and  do  so. 

Walpole  Coryton  smelt  his  destiny,  as  dogs  smell  a 
wolf,  and  that  destiny  was  political  life.  He  knew  all 
about  it — or  thought  he  did — its  difficulties,  its  discour- 
agements, its  meanness,  its  ingratitude,  but  with  him 
politics  were  a  passion,  and  he  resolved  to  brave  all. 
His  father's  career,  so  far  from  discouraging  him,  was 
to  be  to  him  as  a  beacon  light,  warning  him  of  the 
pit-falls  to  avoid — an  experience  by  which  he  might 
benefit  and  in  the  light  of  which  he  meant  to  succeed 
where  the  other  had  failed.  That  which  had  not  been 
possible  in  the  one  generation  should  be  accomplished 
in  the  next.  He  had  his  father's  name — not  much  it 
was  true — but  still  it  would  serve  as  an  introduction 
to  public  life.  He  could  not  afford  to  waste  any  of  his 
little  advantages. 

His  father's  last  words  still  rang  in  his  ears  :  his 
best  friend  must  be  himself.  With  the  son  as  with 
the  sire  self  came  first,  self  second  and,  if  there  was 


8  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

anything  left,  self  again.  He  was  in  fact  all  self :  the 
God  he  worshipped  was  Self.  "  Nothing,"  said  Mira- 
beau,  "  is  impossible  to  the  man  who  believes  in  him- 
self." If  that  were  true,  then  young  Coryton  had 
already  won  half  his  battle,  for  himself  was  about  all 
that  he  did  believe  in. 

Walpole  Coryton  was  just  what  his  inherited  instincts 
and  the  circumstances  of  his  life  had  made  him,  noth- 
ing more  and  nothing  less.  There  is  an  amiable  idea 
prevalent  among  some  people  that  we  come  into  the 
world  like  a  sheet  of  white  paper  and  that  all  the  ugly 
blots  and  smudges  and  smears  which  appear  upon  the 
surface  thereafter  are  of  our  own  making.  But  is  it 
so  ?  Is  not  the  paper  often  so  smeared  and  warped  in 
the  making  that  it  takes  a  life's  work  to  clean  and 
smooth  it — if  indeed  the  marks  be  not  rather  accent- 
uated and  deepened  ?  We  partake  of  the  texture  of 
the  clay  in  which  we  are  moulded,  and  we  have  to 
fight — if  we  fight  at  all — not  only  against  ourselves, 
but  against  the  inherited  vices  and  predilections  of 
those  who  gave  us  life.  Just  as  the  cripple,  the  con- 
sumptive, the  idiot,  the  diseased  of  all  kinds  are  handi- 
capped in  body  from  their  birth  by  circumstances  over 
which  they  have  no  control,  so  are  many  weighed  down 
in  mind  and  hampered  in  soul  by  hereditary  tendencies, 
against  which  they  often  struggle  in  vain. 

Walpole  Coryton  was  his  father's  son,  with  his 
father's  clear  head  and  long  sight  and  with  all  his 
father's  selfishness  and  unscrupulousness  intensified 
by  the  training  he  had  received.  "  As  the  twig  is  bent, 
the  tree's  inclined"  and  in  this  case  it  had  been  bent — 
and  bent  designedly — into  crooked  and  tortuous  lines. 
The  child  was  the  father  of  the  boy,  the  boy  of  the  man. 
The  childhood  need  not  be  described.  Childhood  at 
best  is  always  tedious.  What  the  boyhood  was,  we 
must  look  back  a  little  to  see. 


UAliHO\y-ON-THE'HILL. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

HAREOW-ON-THE-HIT/T, 

Au  commencement  de  la  vie  toutes  les  coupes  sont  pleines : 
buvez  lentement,  si  vous  voulez  qu'il  vous  rente  quelquecnose  sur 
le  tard.  Ne  buvez  pan  trop  tot  les  vins  capiteux,  car  alors  vous 
ne  sauriezplus  sentir  les  saveurs  douces  et  saines. — PIEKBE  LOTI. 

"  SELL  for  you,  Shepheard,  you  clown.  Can't  come 
in.  Saw  you  coming." 

"  What,  at  it  already !  Look  sharp  and  open.  I'll 
take  a  hand  till  lock-up." 

Three  youths  were  playing  Nap  in  a  room  of  Mr. 
Wellesley's  house  at  Harrow  on  the  first  day  of  term. 
The  air  was  thick  with  smoke.  Each  boy  had  a 
cigarette  in  his  mouth  and  a  tumbler  of  claret  and 
soda  by  his  side.  The  door  had  been  secured  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  thrusting  a  poker  into  a  hole  in 
the  floor  just  inside  the  room.  The  hole  had  been 
there  beyond  the  memory  of  boy  and  had  done  duty 
for  many  generations  of  rule-breakers. 

"That  game  of  pretending  to  bar  out  Shepheard 
is  getting  played  out,"  remarked  Harold  Gaverigan, 
the  new-comer,  as  he  shook  hands  all  rpund,  "  we 
really  must  think  of  something  just  a  little  less  chest- 
nutty.  Last  term  old  Weller  came  in  at  least  half 
a  dozen  times,  when  the  door  was  barred,  and  each 
time  we  sang  out,  '  Go  away,  Shepheard,'  in  a 
way  that  wasn't  even  plausible,  and  each  time  he 
found  us  four  sitting  in  the  most  unnatural  attitudes 
on  hard  chairs  round  a  table  with  absolutely  nothing 
on  it  but  a  titty-bowl.  We're  sure  to  be  cobbed  at 
this  rate.  And  just  now  I  heard  Coryton's  voice 
screaming,  '  Propose,'  before  I  was  half-way  upstairs."- 

"  That  was  before  Pirn  came  in,"  remarked  the  boy 
named  suavely,  "  the  Pigeon  and  I  were  just  having  a 
irontle  flutter  at  eatrle" 


10  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  In  which  you  began  with  king  and  vol  each  game, 
I  wager,"  Gaverigan  replied  with  a  smile.  "  You 
should  play  with  me,  Pigeon,  you  know  I  never  do 
such  things.  Come  on,  I'll  take  a  hand." 

The  poker  was  replaced,  Gaverigan  poured  himself 
a  glass  of  cherry-brandy  on  the  sideboard,  and  the  four 
were  soon  immersed  in  their  game. 

Meanwhile  let  us  take  the  opportunity  of  casting  a 
look  around  the  room  and  its  inmates.  A  single  row 
of  pictures  ran  all  round  the  walls,  in  weird  frames 
like  those  at  the  Chat  N~oir.  Some  fencing-foils  and 
boxing-gloves  suggested  active  tastes  different  from 
those  in  fashion  at  Harrow,  and  an  array  of  hunting- 
trophies  served  to  suggest — on  the  principle  that  "  he 
may  safely  lie  who  comes  from  far  " — a  possible  cultus 
of  the  country  gentleman's  fetish  in  place  of  the  cricket- 
and-footballolatry,  which  are  exacted  at  public  schools. 
The  only  solid  emblem  of  physical  prowess  was  an 
absurd  pewter  pot,  with  the  words  "  House  Sack-race  " 
writ  large  upon  it  and  a  collection  of  quill  pens  stuck 
contemptuously  inside. 

The  books  were  unusually  numerous  for  a  boy's 
room  and  were  arranged  with  an  evident  eye  to  effect. 
The  battered  school-books,  with  the  regulation  stamp 
on  the  edges  of  the  leaves,  were  in  a  curtained  shelf 
behind  a  screen ;  in  a  prominent  case,  opposite  the 
windows,  where  the  light  showed  up  their  gilded  calf, 
was  a  set  of  school  prize-books, — the  Bourchier  History 
prize,  the  Ebrington  French  prize,  and  a  prize  won  for 
an  Englisn  essay  on  Cardinal  Richelieu ;  underneath 
them  were  scattered,  in  studied  confusion,  the  books 
meant  to  be  paraded  :  Montaigne's  Essays,  Mill  on 
Liberty,  Shelley's  works,  Disraeli's  novels  and  Chester- 
field's letters ;  underneath  again,  in  a  locked  cupboard, 
was  a  naughty  collection  of  yellow-covered  novels  in 
two  languages. 

There  was  a  long  box  of  flowers  in  the  window, 
chiefly  geraniums  and  heliotrope  and  some  sweet  peas, 
that  had  been  trained  to  climb  the  thick  wire  netting, 
which  cages  in  Harrow  boys  as  securely  as  if  they 
were  lunatics  or  linnets.  In  the  panels  of  what  looked 
like  a  wardrobe-door  were  pasted  cartoons  of  political 


HAEEO  W-ON-  THE-HILL.  1 1 

celebrities  from  Britain,  a  paper  which  describes  itself 
as  the  organ  of  Conservative  working-men  and  appar- 
ently attributes  to  those  rare  birds  vulgar  and  rudi- 
mentary ideas  both  of  art  and  wit. 

Inside  this  door  was  the  famous  Harrow  fold-up  bed, 
which  is  let  down  on  to  the  floor  when  required  for 
use  and  put  back  in  its  musty  cupboard  during  the 
day.  These  are  the  beds  in  which  new  boys  are  pop- 
ularly supposed  to  be  shut  up,  head-downwards,  every 
Guy  Fawkes'  day  and  perhaps  were  before  this  desper- 
ately mollycoddle  age,  when  bullying  has  gone  out  of 
fashion  and  boys  are  allowed  to  grow  up  into  flabby 
editions  of  Mr.  Oscar  Wilde.  The  object  of  this  kind 
of  bed  is  to  keep  up  appearances  and  conceal  the  fact 
that  the  costly  privilege  of  education  at  a  crack  public 
school  does  not  exempt  boys  from  the  poor  man's 
hardship  of  having  to  use  his  bedroom  not  only  to 
sleep  in,  but  to  live  in,  work  in,  play  in,  even  take  his 
meals  in. 

The  latter  is  pressed  upon  the  boys  as  a  privilege, 
only  those  in  the  sixth-form  being  allowed  to  have 
breakfast  and  tea  in  their  bedrooms,  and  three  or  four 
clubbing  together  in  what  is  called  a  "  find,"  for  the  or- 
ganization of  those  indigestible  feasts.  The  lower  boys 
take  all  their  food  downstairs,  but,  in  revenge,  they  are 
packed  away  two,  three,  and  even  four  together,  in 
little  dens  scarcely  bigger  than  a  saddle-room. 

Another  rough  device  served  to  conceal  the  washing 
arrangements  in  a  similar  spirit  of  pretence  and  pru- 
dery. It  was  now  made  to  do  duty  as  a  sideboard  and 
supported  a  heavy  home-made  cake,  a  syphon,  a  bottle 
of  claret  and  a  smaller  one  of  cherry-brandy. 

On  each  side  of  the  fireplace  was  a  long,  deep  wicker 
chair  with  soft  chintz  cushions,  which  combined  great 
cheapness  and  undoubted  comfort.  One  was  the  prop- 
erty of  the  master  of  the  room,  Walpole  Coryton,  the 
other  that  of  his  bosom  friend,  Lord  Pimlico,  who, 
being  only  in  the  upper-fifth,  had  not  a  room  to  him- 
self and,  while  nominally  sharing  one  on  the  same 
landing  with  Shepheard,  had  taken  to  making  Cory- 
ton's  room  for  all  practical  purposes  his  headquarters. 

Walpole  Coryton,  who  was  now  dealing,  had  never 


12  THE  GREEN  SAY  THEE. 

been  known  to  put  himself  out  one  hair's-breadth  for 
anybody  and  yet  somehow  every  one  was  devoted  to 
him.  He  hadn't  such  a  thing  as  a  scruple  about  him, 
but  he  possessed  the  cardinal  knack  or  virtue  of  never 
being  found  out.  There  were  few  more  popular  fel- 
lows in  the  school,  and  this  though  he  habitually 
offended  all  the  most  deeply  rooted  prejudices  of  the 
place,  from  shirking  football  to  taking  an  interest  in 
his  work. 

The  charm  about  him  was  that  he  never  resented 
anything.  That  was  his  philosophy.  He  might  have 
been  bullied  and  tricked  and  disappointed  and  he 
would  have  turned  a  smiling  face  to  the  smiter,  even 
though  ho  bore  malice.  But  he  never  was  bullied  or 
tricked  or  disappointed;  everything  always  turned 
out  to  him  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  possible  worlds. 

There  was  an  element  of  mischief  in  his  character. 
He  was  not  precisely  cruel,  but  he  would  announce, 
with  cynical  half-truth,  that  to  see  other  people  suffer 
added  a  zest  to  any  enjoyment  of  his  own  at  the  time. 
He  said  he  never  enjoyed  a  blow-out  at  Paul's  or 
Hance's  so  much  as  on  a  very  cold  day,  with  a  crowd 
of  very  ragged  street-boys  flattening  their  noses  envi- 
ously at  the  window.  But  then  again  he  would  find  a 
pleasure  in  making  those  same  ragamuffins  scramble 
for  pennies  as  soon  as  his  feast  was  done. 

If  he  had  any  antipathy  at  all,  it  was  for  violent  ex- 
ercise. He  was  a  sportsman  in  a  sort  of  negative  way. 
lie  liked  going  to  a  meet,  but  would  never  join  IP  a 
run ;  he  would  get  boys  to  bowl  to  him  on  a  summer 
afternoon,  but  would  never  join  in  a  game  where  he 
might  have  to  field  out;  he  took  a  somewhat  platonic 
interest  in  racing  and  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
gambler,  but  he  only  betted  or  played  to  win,  and  was 
never  known  to  lose  his  head  at  cards. 

The  marvel  about  him  was  that  he  would  do  the 
rashest  things  imaginable  and  never  seem  to  run  the 
faintest  risk.  For  instance,  he  would  smoke  a  cigar- 
ette openly  in  his  room  after  the  midday  dinner,  play 
cards  there  in  the  afternoon  and  dispense  cherry- 
brandy  to  all  his  friends  at  tea-time,  though  the  dis- 
covery of  any  one  of  those  habits  would  have  entailed 


HARROW-ON-THE-HILL.  13 

a  flogging  and  perhaps  degradation  from  the  sixth 
form ;  he  prepared  all  his  construes  with  a  crib,  he  got 
all  his  mathematics  and  tedious  exercises  done  for  him 
by  other  boys,  shirked  impositions  and  had  even  been 
known  to  shirk  a  school  or  chapel,  and  yet  remained 
as  far  above  suspicion  as  a  new-laid  egg. 

He  possessed  considerable  physical  beauty  with  a 
dash  of  devilry  in  it,  an  arched  nose  terminating  in  a 
point,  large  dark  liquid  eyes,  a  short  upper  lip,  tiny 
fawn's  ears  and  black  wavy  hair.  He  was  nearly 
eighteen,  and  already  slight  traces  of  dissipation  had 
formed  themselves  upon  his  face, — blue-black  pencil- 
lings  under  the  eyes  and  a  faint  line  at  the  corner  of 
the  mouth.  It  was  a  face  which  physiognomists  would 
fancy  they  could  read  offhand,  but  which  really  served 
to  cloak  many  unexpected  touches  of  character. 

Playing  nap  there  that  evening,  he  looked  quite  in 
his  element  and  might  have  stepped  straight  out  of 
one  of  Caravaggio's  pictures. 

On  the  right  was  Lord  Pimlico ;  beyond  him  was 
the  Honorable  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel,  commonly  called 
"  the  Pigeon  "  and  on  the  left  was  Harold  Gaverigan. 
The  first  two  and  Coryton.  were  somewhat  profanely 
known  to  the  House  as  "the  Trinity"  from  their 
inseparable  intimacy.  Coryton  had  struck  up  a  friend- 
ship with  Pimlico,  partly  because  he  might  be  useful 
and  partly  because  he  was  amusing,  and  the  two  had 
adopted  Tyrconnel  simply  and  solely  in  order  to  make 
him  useful.  Pimlico  was  only  in  the  upper-fifth  and 
nominally  had  breakfast  and  tea  in  hall,  though  prac- 
tically he  made  one  of  the  "  find,"  or  mess,  in  Coryton's 
room,  which  comprised  Coryton,  Tyrconnel,  and  Gave- 
rigan. 

Lord  Pimlico  was  the  son  and  heir  of  the  Marquis 
of  Southwark — a  Cabinet  Minister  who  owned  race- 
horses— and  he  would  some  day  be  a  magnate  in 
his  county,  if  not  in  the  kingdom.  He  was  a  wild, 
dare-devil  sort  of  youth  and  a  great  contrast  to  Cory- 
ton,  not  only  from  the  unlicked,  semi-barbarity  of  his 
manners,  but  from  the  animalism  of  his  emotions. 
He  was  muscular  and  erect,  Avith  a  bull-dog  neck, 
wolfish  teeth  that  showed  when  he  laughed,  projecting 


14  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEEE. 

eyeballs,  short  hair,  and  a  pimply  face.  His  voice  was 
harsh,  even  when  he  sought  to  be  agreeable,  and  he 
had  an  unpleasant  habit  of  panting  in  people's  faces 
when  he  spoke  to  them. 

The  Pigeon  was  also  an  only  son.  His  father  was 
a  richissime  soap-boiler,  who  had  married  the  only 
daughter  of  the  House  of  Tyrconnel,  adopted  her 
name  in  addition  to  his  own  of  Simpson,  then  dropped 
the  Simpson  altogether,  and  finally  blossomed  out,  a 
year  before  the  events  of  this  chapter,  as  the  brand- 
new  Baron  Baltinglass  of  Blarney.  The  Pigeon  was 
not  altogether  a  fool — the  soap-boiler's  blood  in  his 
veins  took  care  of  that ; — it  was  his  singular  gentleness 
of  manner  and  his  exaggerated  conscientiousness  which 
had  earned  him  his  nickname.  He  had  an  unusual  re- 
gard for  truth  and  had  surprised  masters  by  refusing 
to  accept  the  credit  of  successes,  to  which  he  was  not 
strictly  entitled,  and  boys  by  the  perversity  with 
which  he  offered  himself  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  accept 
blame  and  punishment,  which  a  discreet  silence  would 
have  staved  off. 

There  was  one  strange  vein  of  character  in  his 
composition,  probably  a  stray  touch  of  atavism  from 
the  gay  roysterers  among  his  mother's  Cavalier  ances- 
tors, from  whom  came  also  the  heroism  and  chivalry 
of  his  disposition.  Even  in  his  most  conscientious 
moments  he  had  an  irresistible  craving  for  excitement. 
If  it  led  him  to  break  rules,  he  made  no  mystery  about 
it  and  was  ready  to  take  the  consequences,  but  excite- 
ment he  must  have  at  all  costs.  Coryton  and  Pimlico 
provided  him  with  a  certain  measure  of  it  with  cards, 
and  at  the  same  time  provided  themselves  with  a  wel- 
come addition  to  their  stores  of  pocket-money.  In 
any  exciting  piece  of  mischief  that  was  on  foot  he  was 
sure  to  have  a  hand. 

He  was  often  at  issue  with  authority  and  that 
without  the  scapegrace's  best  defence — a  diplomatic 
dissimulation.  His  honesty  was  in  such  cases  the 
worst  policy  and  availed  nothing  to  protect  him.  He 
was  not  long  in  making  the  discovery  that  the  eccle- 
siastical theories  about  virtue  and  happiness  going 
ever  hand  in  hand  are  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  In- 


HA  BRO n  '-ON-  TIIE-HILL.  1 5 

deed  the  wise  men  of  old  were  the  first  to  admit  it. 
Throughout  the  Old  Testament  there  runs  a  chronic 
and  morose  resentment  at  the  very  good  time  indeed 
enjoyed  in  this  world  by  the  wicked.  "  They  flourish 
like  a  green  bay-tree,"  "  their  eyes  swell  with  fatness, 
they  do  even  as  they  list,"  it  is  petulantly  exclaimed ; 
and  much  hot  breath  is  expended  in  foretelling  ca- 
lamity concerning  them.  But  somehow  or  other  the 
day  of  retribution  seems  strangely  slow  to  dawn  and, 
while  the  saints  are  fasting,  giving  tithes  of  all  they 
possess,  and  generally  making  themselves  miserable, 
the  sinners  go  on  getting  all  the  cakes  and  ale,  waxing 
fat  and  kicking,  and  gobbling  up  the  fatted  calves.  Hil- 
debrand  summed  up  the  situation,  when  he  exclaimed 
cynically  upon  his  death-bed,  "  I  have  loved  righteous- 
ness and  hated  iniquity  ;  therefore  I  die  in  exile." 

The  remaining  player  was  Harold  Gaverigan — a  youth 
by  no  means  accustomed  to  be  kept  waiting.  He  was 
the  only  son  of  a  Cornish  country  gentleman  of  ancient 
lineage,  a  tall  fair  boy  with  childish  face  and  twink- 
ling eyes,  but  a  certain  determination  of  manner  that 
generally  got  him  his  own  way. 

After  the  game  had  proceeded  for  about  an  hour,  the 
lock-up  bell  rang.  The  boys  hastily  put  away  their 
contraband  goods,  rinsed  their  mouths  with  eau-de- 
cologne  and  water  to  remove  the  tell-tale  smell  of 
smoke,  and  exchanged  their  tweed  coats  for  the  regu- 
lation swallow-tails,  before  going  down  to  answer  their 
names  in  hall. 

Mr.  Wellesley  went  the  round,  shaking  hands  with 
every  one  according  to  the  custom  of  first  day  of  term ; 
the  head  of 'the  house  read  through  the  roll-call ;  and 
Mr.  Wellesley  retired  to  his  study.  Before  doing  so 
he  said  in  bell-like  tones : 

"  Coryton,  Mr.  Tyrconnel,*  and  Gaverigan,  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  after  supper." 

The  usual  supper,  consisting  of  cold  meat,  cheese 
and  swipes,  was  laid  out  on  the  hall-table,  but  the 


*  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  explain,  for  the  benefit  of  the  ig- 
iiorami,  that  boys  with  the  title  of  "  Honorable  "  are  called  "  Mr. 
officially  at  Harrow. 


16  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

boys,  fresh  from  better  fare  at  home,  showed  little  in- 
clination to  sit  down  to  school-food  so  soon. 

Shepheard  and  two  others  alone  did  so.  Shepheard 
was  a  heavy  good-natured  fellow,  accustomed  to  be 
laughed  at  all  round.  Coryton  slapped  him  on  the 
back,  as  he  passed  through  the  hall  with  his  two 
friends  on  the  way  to  the  house-master's  study. 

"It  was  a  sell  for  you,  old  boy,  to-day,  wasn't  it?" 
he  said  playfully. 

"  What  was  ?  "  retorted  Shepheard,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  bread  and  cheese. 

"  Why,  not  being  able  to  get  into  my  room  this 
evening,  when  we  barred  you  out." 

Shepheard  gave  a  grunt  of  disgust  and  was  about  to 
expostulate,  but  the  three  had  passed  on  laughing. 

Mr.  Wellesley  received  them  with  an  unusually 
grave  face.  It  was  a  face  not  unlike  that  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  and  he  wras  inordinately  vain  of  the  re- 
semblance. When  he  liked,  he  could  look  alarmingly 
severe,  but  those  who  knew  him  well  were  never  afraid 
of  him,  for  he  had  the  kindest  of  hearts  and  rarely 
punished  if  he  could  avoid  it. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  austerely,  scarcely  looking  up 
from  the  Quarterly  Review  he  was  reading. 

Coryton  with  easy  indifference  ensconced  himself 
at  once  in  a  big  leather  arm-chair  near  the  window  and 
sat  dangling  his  legs.  Tyrconnel,  in  a  rather  con- 
strained manner,  took  a  hard  chair,  folded  his  arms 
and  wondered  anxiously  what  was  coming.  Gaverigan 
leaned  carelessly  against  a  revolving  bookcase,  resting 
his  forehead  on  his  forefinger  and  trying  to  look  un- 
concerned. He  always  studied  his  attitudes,  and  he 
had  seen  one  something  like  this  in  an  engraving  of 
Disraeli  the  younger. 

Mr.  Wellesley  went  on  reading  for  nearly  five  min- 
utes, as  if  no  one  were  in  the  room.  Presently 
Gaverigan  gave  a  long  cough,  obviously  intended  to 
express  the  fact  that  he  was  waiting.  Mr.  Wellesley's 
eyes  lighted  up  with  a  grim  smile,  but  otherwise  he 
made  not  the  faintest  sign  of  having  heard.  Then 
Coryton,  in  the  most  natural  voice  in  the  world,  asked 
Tyrconnel  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  at  what 


HARROW-ON-THE-H1LL.  17 . 

time  speechroom  was  next  morning.  Mr.  Wellesley 
said  "  Hush,"  but  still  did  not  look  up  from  his  book. 
The  boys  gave  a  suppressed  titter  and  relapsed  into 
silence. 

At  last  Mr.  Wellesley  looked  up. 

"I  am  going  to  speak  to  you,  boys,  on  a  serious 
matter,"  he  said,  in  clear  deliberate  tones,  "  you  must 
look  on  what  I  have  to  say  in  the  light  of  a  warning. 
It  has  come  to  my  knowledge  during  the  holidays — 
no  matter  how — that  card-playing  has  been  going  on 
in  the  house.  I  ask  no  questions.  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  told  anything  " — he  added,  as  Tyrconnel  impul- 
sively tried  to  say  something ;  "  do  not  interrupt  me, 
Mr.  Tyrconnel.  It  is  possible  that  some  of  you  may 
know  who  the  culprits  are.  If  so,  you  will  be  doing 
them  and  me  a  service  by  informing  them  that  it 
must  be  stopped  at  once — at  once,  do  you  hear?  I 
shall  be  on  the  look-out  and,  if  I  catch  any  one,  I 
shall  not  have  the  least  hesitation  about  sending  him 
up  to  the  head-master.  I  appeal  to  you,  boys,  for 
the  good  name  of  the  House, — I  mean,  you  can  remind 
your  friends  that  a  scandal  of  this  sort  would  be  very 
unpleasant  for  us  all.  Other  things  have  been  men- 
tioned to  me  also.  A  number  of  wine-bottles  were 
found  in  the  orchard.  But  one  warning  must  cover 
all  delinquencies.  If  any  one's  conscience  prick  him,  let 
it  be  a  lesson  to  him  for  the  future.  Now  you  may  go." 

"I  would  like  to  say  first,  sir,"  said  Coryton  in 
his  usual  cheerful  tones,  "that  I  am  quite  innocent 
both  of  cards  and  bottles.  I  suppose  you  sent  for  us 
because  you  thought  we  had  something  to  do  with  it, 
but  I  assure  you  that  you  are  mistaken — at  least  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,"  he  added  hastily,  perceiving 
that  Tyrconnel  was  about  to  correct  him. 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  the  master  replied,  looking 
into  Coryton's  frank  eyes,  which  always  stood  him 
in  good  stead  even  in  the  worst  predicaments;  "I  am 
sorry  if  my  suspicions  fell  on  the  wrong  heads.  Too 
bad,  is  it  not?"  he  added  with  a  twinkle,  "  dat  veniam 
corvis,  vexat  censura  columbas? 

"  That's   one  for  you,  Pigeon,"   said  Gaverigan   in 
a  stage  whisper,  nudging  his  friend. 
2 


18  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Now  run  along,"  said  Mr.  Wellesley,  "  and,  Gave- 
rigan,"  he  added  with  emphasis,  "  I  advise  you  to  give 
up  those  incessant  romps  and  barrings-out  with  Shep- 
heard.  Now  you  are  in  the  sixth,  you  must  put  away 
childish  things.  Good-night.  Do  not  forget  what  I 
have  said  to  you." 

"You  are  an  amazing  chap,  Pigeon,"  sa^d  Cory  ton 
at  breakfast  next  morning,  recurring  to  this  interview 
for  about  the  twentieth  time,  "  I  really  thought  at  one 
time  you  were  going  to  say  to  old  Weller,  '  Yes,  sir, 
it's  quite  true,  I  have  a  card-party  every  afternoon 
between  fourth  school  and  lock-up,  and  those  were  all 
my  bottles  in  the  orchard ' ! " 

"  Of  course  I  was  going  to  tell  him.  You  said  we 
none  of  us  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  can't  help 
your  lying  to  save  your  own  skin,  but  I  am  not  going 
to  give  a  tacit  assent  to  any  lies  you  may  tell  about  me 
in  my  presence." 

"  Good  old  Pigeon  !  "  they  all  laughed. 

"But  what  were  the  bottles?"  asked  Gaverigan, 
"  you  surely  hadn't  drunk  all  that  brandy,  Pigeon  ?" 

"  It  wasn't  brandy,"  he  replied,  "  it  was  that  wretched 
Coryton's  claret-bottles.  Before  starting  for  his  exeat, 
he  came  to  me  with  a  travelling-bag  full  of  bottles  and 
asked  me  to  keep  them  in  my  bag  till  he  came  back, 
as  I  wasn't  going  for  an  exeat" 

"  Poor  Pigeon !  Did  you  ever  escape  having  your 
'ex'  stopped,  I  wonder?" 

"  So  I  kept  them  in  my  bag  till  he  came  back,  and 
then  he  pretended  he  knew  nothing  about  them,  and  I 
was  saddled  with  the  beastly  things." 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  admission. 

"  Well,  I  had  to  throw  them  out  over  the  orchard 
'vail  from  my  window  at  dead  of  night  and  there  was 
a  light  in  Weller's  study  at  the  time  and  I  heard 
him  open  his  window  to  see  what  was  up.  So  perhaps 
he  had  his  suspicions  about  me." 

"  Not  improbable,  I  should  say,"  put  in  Coryton 
judicially.  "  What  puzzles  me  is  how  he  heard  about 
the  cards.  I  wonder  whether  William  can  have  told 
his  father." 

"  No,  William  Wellesley  isn't  a  sneak,  and,  besides, 
he  doesn't  know," 


HAEEO  W-ON-  THE-HILL.  \  9 

"  I  should  smile  !  They  all  know.  And  the  old  man 
knows  more  than  you  imagine,"  said  Gaverigan,  "  didn't 
you  hear  what  he  said  about  barring  out  Shepheard? 
But  he  seemed  to  believe  you,  Cqryton,  when  you  said 
you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Of  course.  I  am  accustomed  to  be  believed," 
said  Coryton  proudly. 

^  I  suppose  we  shall  all  have  to  turn  saints  now," 
put  in  Tyrconnel  tentatively. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Coryton,  "  we're  going  to 
have  a  big  card-party  to-morrow  afternoon.  After 
giving  us  that  warning  he  won't  dream  of  suspecting 
that  we  aren't  going  to  take  it.  I'm  glad  it's  hap- 
pened. Xow  we  shall  be  as  safe  as  houses.  The 
beginning  of  the  term  mustn't  be  neglected.  It's  the 
best  time,  because  everybody  has  got  plenty  of  cash. 
I've  asked  Williams  and  Wilmot  from  Skipper's  house, 
and  we  can  have  in  Shepheard,  if  you  like." 

"  But  you've  no  right  to  bring  in  boys  from  other 
houses.  You  haven't  been  five  years  in  the  House 
yet." 

"  My  good  Pigeon,  rights  are  made  for  slaves.  You 
know  I  always  do  just  what  pleases  me." 

"  Did  you  get  any  cards  in  the  holidays,  Coryton  ?  " 
asked  Gaverigan,  helping  himself  to  jam  and  Cornish 
cream. 

"  Rather !  didn't  we,  Pigeon  ?  By  Jove !  I  wish  we 
could  get  Vixie  down  one  afternoon.  She  plays  Nap 
better  than  any  of  you.  Stunning  girl,  isn't  she, 
Pigeon?" 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  inquired  Gaverigan. 

"  A  girl  who  was  staying  at  Blarney.  Miss  Violet 
Tresillian,  commonly  called  the  Vixen.  No  end  of  a 
sport.  Keen  as  mustard.  Brave  as  a  lioness." 

"  '  Innocent  as  a  lord,'  to  quote  some  poor  devil  who 
was  accused  of  sheep-stealing  the  other  day." 

"Yes,  just  about.  She  promised  to  make  Sir 
Edward  bring  her  down  for  a  cricket-match  one  day 
this  term.  I'll  get  'em  to  come  on  a  whole  holiday 
and  then  we  can  all  lunch  together  at  the  King's 
Head.  You  must  write  and  remind  them,  Pigeon," 

«  What,  already  ?  " 


20  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Pigeon.  You  know  you're  just  as 
devoted  to  her  as  the  rest  of  us.  As  for  Pirn,  he  was 
ready  to  lick  her  boots." 

"  Surprising  I  didn't  get  my  remove  this  term," 
growled  Pimlico,  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Much  more  surprising  their  making  you  a  monitor, 
Coryton,"  said  Gaverigan,  "  I  never  was  more  aston- 
ished than  when  Butler  called  you  up  to  give  you  the 
key  in  Speecher  this  morning." 

"It's  only  the  natural  reward  of  wisdom  and  piety, 
my  dear  chap,"  he  replied  gaily. 


CHAPTER  ITT. 

THE    S<;  APE  GO  A  T. 

Rien  rfest  bete  de  ce  qui  ri'iissit.  Papa. — GUY  DE  MAUPAS- 
SANT, Notre  Ctrur. 

THE  first  few  weeks  of  the  term  passed  off  unevent- 
fully. The  card-party  was  a  great  success  and  was 
followed  by  several  others  without  arousing  the  least 
suspicion.  Tyrconnel  got  sent  to  extra-school  for 
failure  in  his  holiday-task.  It  was  very  hard  lines, 
for  he  had  known  it  perfectly,  but  Shepheard  had 
spoken  to  him  during  the  examination  and  the  master 
in  charge  had  torn  up  their  papers  as  a  punishment. 
Shepheard  growled  about  it  for  days,  but  the  Pigeon 
took  it  more  philosophically.  Poor  fellow,  he  was 
getting  pretty  well  accustomed  to  hard  lines  by  this 
.time. 

To  crown  his  disappointment,  the  extra-school  was 
fixed  for  the  afternoon  of  the  whole  holiday,  on  which 
Sir  Edward  Tresillian  and  his  niece  were  to  visit  Har- 
row. At  first  the  Pigeon  was  for  asking  them  to  put 
off  coming,  but  it  seemed  more  than  doubtful  whether 
their  engagements  would  permit  another  visit,  so  the 
Pigeon  consoled  himself  with  the  prospect  of  seeing 
them  in  the-  morning  and  at  luncheon. 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  21 

The  day  dawned  bright  and  clear,  and  the  boys 
were  in  the  highest  spirits,  as  they  dallied  over  their 
breakfast  till  long  past  ten.  Pimlico  was  going  to 
spend  the  morning  at  a  wicket ;  Gaverigan  had  ar- 
ranged to  go  down  to  "  Ducker,"  for  a  bathe  after  the 
eleven  o'clock  "bill;" — Tyrconnel and  Coryton hurried 
down  to  meet  the  10.30  train  by  the  Metropolitan 
Railway. 

"  Poor  old  Pigeon,"  said  Coryton,  as  they  ran  down 
the  hill,  "  having  to  go  to  '  extra '  this  fine  day. 
Vixie  will  be  disappointed,  when  she  hears.  Never 
mind,  I'll  wait  outside  for  you  afterwards,  with  a  bag 
of  buns,  if  you're  a  good  boy,  and  you  shall  be  taken 
down  to  Ducker  straight  away." 

On  their  way  down,  they  passed  a  number  of  people 
also  on  their  way  to  the  station,  including  several 
masters,  who  proposed  to  take  advantage  of  the  holi- 
day for  a  run  up  to  town. 

"  I  only  hope  none  of  those  beaks  will  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  ask  me  if  I  had  leave  to  come  to  the  sta- 
tion," said  Tyrconnel  plaintively,  as  they  entered  the 
gravel- walk  leading  up  to  it,  "  'twould  be  just  my  luck 
if  they  did.  But  they'd  hardly  be  so  mean  just  as 
they're  going  to  enjoy  themselves." 

"Oh!  you  don't  know  the  beasts.  That's  the  very 
moment  when  they're  often  most  vicious.  I  luckily 
thought  of  asking  Weller  last  night,  when  he  was  cor- 
recting my  prose.  I'd  wait  outside  if  I  were  you.  It's 
no  use  running  useless  risks." 

"  No,  here  we  are.  The  train's  just  coming  in. 
They  wouldn't  have  the  cheek  to  stop  me  when  I  was 
with  people." 

The  train  steamed  in  and  the  boys  were  soon  shak- 
ing hands  with  Sir  Edward  and  Violet,  who  were 
accompanied  by  a  tall  lady  and  a  stout  military-looking 
gentleman. 

"  How  are  you,  boys  ?  "  exclaimed  Sir  Edward  heart- 
ily. "  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  cousin,  Lady  Giddy. 
You  know  Colonel  Lockhart  already,  I  think.  Shall 
we  walk  or  drive  up  ?  What  is  your  programme  for 
us?"  . 

"  We  must  go  up  to  eleven-bill  first,"  replied  Tyr- 


22  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

connel,  "  then  we  can  order  lunch  and  go  and  pretend 
to  look  at  the  cricket,  if  you  like." 

He  had  hardly  done  speaking  when  one  of  the  mas- 
ters, Mr.  Brooks,  an  ill-favored  old  clergyman  with 
shabby  clothes  and  round  shoulders,  came  up  to  him 
and  said,  "  One  moment,  Mr.  Tyrconnel,  please ;  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

"  Poor  Pigeon ! "  said  Coryton  regretfully,  as  he 
watched  the  incident,  "  he's  the  most  unlucky  beggar 
alive.  Brooker  has  a  special  spite  against  him  and 
would  send  him  up  as  soon  as  look  at  him." 

"Why,  what's  he  done?"  asked  Sir  Edward,  in 
astonishment. 

"  The  station's  out  of  bounds,  and,  if  we're  caught 
there  without  leave,  there's  no  end  of  a  fuss.  I  hap- 
pened to  get  leave  from  Wellesley  last  night,  so  I'm 
all  right.  But  the  poor  Pigeon  will  get  dropped  on." 

"  Surely  it  isn't  such  a  dreadful  crime  to  come  and 
meet  your  friends  at  the  station." 

"One  of  the  seven  deadily  sins,  I  assure  you,  Sir 
Edward.  Well,  Pigeon,  what's  the  verdict  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  lines  by  lock-up  to-morrow.  And 
he  wants  to  speak  to  you,  old  chap." 

"  This  is  too  bad !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Edward  hotly, 
"  I'll  go  and  speak  to  the  man  myself.  lie  was  at 
Harrow  with  me  and,  if  I  take  all  the  blame  on 
myself,  he  may  listen  to  reason.  It's  a  shame, 
pouncing  on  boys  when  they're  with  ladies,  in  this  way." 

The  others  made  their  way  slowly  up  the  hill, 
Tyrconnel  and  Violet  leading  the  way. 

"You  see  what  we  have  to  put  up  with,  Yixie," 
said  the  former,  "  it's  worse  than  Poland  under  the 
Russians." 

"  Very  provoking,"  said  the  girl  with  a  soft  light 
in  her  eyes.  "  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  being 
the  innocent  cause  of  it  all,  for  I  feel  that  you  ran  this 
risk  solely  on  my  account." 

"  Nonsense,  Vixie,  you  know  I  would  submit  to  any 
punishment  for  you  sake." 

Violet  Tresillian  was  a  universal  favorite,  and  yet 
no  one  knew  exactly  why  they  liked  her.  She  was 
one  pf  those  girls  who  really  haven't  a  feature,  if  you 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  23 

try  to  dissect  their  appearance,  but,  taken  as  a 
whole,  she  was  decidedly  attractive  and  even  pretty. 
Her  face  was  round  and  smooth  and  childlike,  her 
slightly  turned-up  nose  and  mischievous  eyes  gave  a 
suggestion  of  devilry,  and  when  her  cherry-red  lips 
parted,  as  they  constantly  did  in  sunny  smiles,  they 
revealed  a  dazzling  set  of  pearly  teeth.  Great  waves 
of  golden  hair  were  hemmed  in  under  a  sailor-hat, 
trimmed  with  dark-blue  ribbon,  chosen  out  of  com- 
pliment to  Harrow.  She  wore  a  well-fitting  tailor- 
made  dress  of  thin  blue  cloth,  which  gave  a  hint  of 
horsiness  and  served  to  show  off  her  compact  figure, 
which  was  already  well  developed,  though  she  was 
now  only  just  sixteen. 

The  great  charm  about  her  was  the  fresh,  innocent 
way  in  which  she  said  the  most  startling  things 
imaginable.  Everybody  treated  her  as  an  utter  child, 
but  in  reality  she  had  a  much  longer  head  than  any 
one  gave  her  credit  for,  and  had  already  a  scheme  of 
life  well  thought  out,  as  well  as  a  reason  for  nearly 
everything  she  said  or  did.  It  was  commonly  sup- 
posed that  her  uncle  would  leave  most  of  his  money 
to  her,  but  she  felt  by  no  means  sure  on  the  point 
and  was  determined  to  secure  the  kind  of  husband 
she  had  in  her  mind  as  soon  as  possible.  He  was  to 
be  agreeable  and  ready  to  let  her  have  her  own  way, 
that  went  without  saying,  but  the  chief  requisites,  to 
her  mind,  were  money  and  ambition, — especially 
ambition. 

She  had  thought  of  the  Pigeon — whenever  any  one 
thought  of  the  Pigeon  it  was  always  to  see  what 
could  be  got  out  of  him — but,  though  the  Pigeon  was 
a  nice  boy  and  had  any  amount  of  money,  she  was 
not  sure  about  him  on  the  question  of  ambition.  Now 
Coryton  had  ambition  ;  he  did  not  tell  everybody  so, 
but  she  had  ascertained  the  fact  for  herself ;  he  was 
also  a  nice  boy,  and  of  course  the  only  son  of  so  suc- 
cessful a  personage  as  Her  Majesty's  Judge- Advocate- 
General  would  be  well  off. 

But  it  was  too  soon  to  do  more  than  lay  the  foun- 
dations of  a  flirtation  with  either  of  them,  she  reflected 
as  she  walked  up  the  hill,  making  pretty  speeches  to 


24  THE  GEEEN  BAY  THEE. 

Wilfrid  Tyrconnel.  Boys'  characters  were  hopelessly 
unformed  before  five-and-twenty  and  even  after,  for 
the  matter  of  that.  A  girl  of  sixteen  knew  infinitely 
more  of  the  world  than  any  of  them.  Plowever,  boys 
were  always  fun  to  play  with. 

Coryton  was  pointing  out  the  various  school-build- 
ings to  Lady  (Jiddy,  as  boys  seem  to  think  visitors 
expect  them  to  do.  That  pretentious  erection  of 
startling  red  brick  and  hideous  design  was  the  "new 
schools,"  chiefly  devoted  to  the  futile  study  of  Natural 
Science,  known  in  schoolboy  parlance  as  "  Stinks  ;  " 
trie  little  house  over  the  way,  from  which  proceeded 
hideous  discords,  was  devoted  to  instruction  in  the 
"  sackbut,  psaltery,  dulcimer  and  all  kinds  of  music," 
chiefly  for  the  benefit  of  the  School  Volunteers'  Band ; 
the  precipitous  road  between  this  and  the  new  Schools 
led  to  the  ill-drained  football-field,  where,  after  the 
autumnal  rains,  the  athletes  of  compulsion  wallowed 
almost  up  to  their  necks  in  foetid  mud;  beyond  the 
"footer-field"  was  the  school  bathing-place  "  Ducker" 
(originally  called  "Duck-puddle,"  but  the  Harrow  dia- 
lect gives  the  er  termination  to  every  possible  word), 
and  "  Ducker "  was  really  the  least  unpleasant  in- 
stitution in  the  school ;  here  was  the  school  chapel,  dis- 
agreeably modern  for  a  school  that  prided  itself  on  age, 
but  it  might  not  look  bad  in  a  hundred  years  or  so ; 
the  building  in  the  enclosure  beyond  it  was  the 
Vaughan  Library,  built  in  honor  of  the  late  Head 
Master,  for  the  benefit  of  the  boys,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  almost  exclusively  used  by  the  masters ;  the 
big  house  beyond  it  was  the  Head  Master's — the 
largest  in  the  School,  with  accommodation  for  sixty 
boys ;  the  Head  Master  must  make  a  prodigious 
income  out  of  them  all ;  here  they  must  turn  up  a 
small  flight  of  steps,  past  the  French  Master's  house, 
•and  join  the  stream  of  boys,  all  hurrying  in  the  same 
direction. 

By  this  time  Sir  Edward  and  Coryton  had  caught 
up  the  others  and  they  all  went  on  towards  the  school- 
yard, to  witness  the  ceremony  of  "  bill." 

"  Cross-grained  chap,  Brooks,"  said  Sir  Edward,  "  I 
had  quite  a  hard  job  with  him,  though  I  laid  it  on 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  25 

very  thick  about  the  memory  of  old  times  and  all 
that.  But  I  think  I've  got  you  off,  Wilfrid,  old  man. 
He  says  he's  bound  to  mention  it  to  Wellesley,  but 
that  he  won't  be  harder  on  you  than  he  can  help." 

"  That's  awfully  good  of  you,  Sir  Edward.  I  am 
only  sorry  you've  had  so  much  trouble  on  my 
account." 

When  they  reached  the  iron  gates  of  the  school- 
yard, the  boys  parted  company  from  their  friends  to 
take  their  places  in  the  procession  and  answer  their 
names.  On  the  lowest  step  of  the  flight,  leading  up 
to  the  old  schools,  stood  a  master  in  cap  and  gown 
with  the  "  bill-book,"  or  roll-call,  in  his  hand.  Sir 
Edward  led  his  party  up  a  few  steps  above  him, 
where  a  few  friends  of  other  boys  were  already  con- 
gregated. 

Violet  was  struck  by  the  freshness  and  pictur- 
esqueness  of  the  scene :  the  crowd  of  eager  youngsters 
in  their  neat  jackets  and  swallow-tail  coats  and 
their  odd  saucer-like  straw  hats  with  big  brims ;  the 
Elizabethan  building  behind,  reminiscent  of  gener- 
ations of  floggings ;  and  the  bird's-eye  background 
with  the  smoke  of  London  just  imaginable  on  the 
horizon. 

The  boys  were  thickest  at  the  western  corner  of 
the  school-house,  beside  the  den  of  "  Gustos,"  commonly 
called  Sam,  dispenser  of  school  paper  and  racquet-balls, 
bulbous-nosed,  traditional.  The  crowd  condensed 
itself  into  a  single  file  of  boys,  in  the  order  of  their 
forms,  ever  walking  towards  the  Master. 

As  each  boy's  name  was  read,  he  touched  his  hat, 
murmured  "Here,  sir,"  and  slouched  off  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  The  file  was  like  a  long  wrig- 
gling snake,  ever  being  decapitated  and  yet  never  grow- 
ing shorter. 

Usually  the  boys  were  only  too  glad  to  hurry  off  to 
their  various  avocations  as  soon  as  their  names  were 
called,  but  to-day  the  first  hundred  or  so  were  seen  to 
hang  about  the  iron  bars  beside  the  entrance  of  the 
yard,  waiting  for  some  event  to  take  place.  At  last 
it  came  to  the  turn  of  a  broad-shouldered  boy  in  flan- 
nela  to  answer  his  name. 


26  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Directly  the  name  was  called,  the  whole  yardful  of 
boys  began  to  clap  hands,  and  the  hero  of  the  hour, 
first  deliberately  undoing  the  elastic  at  the  back  of  his 
head  and  then  removing  his  hat,  ran  the  few  yards 
which  separated  him  from  the  crowd  at  the  gates, 
where  he  was  received  with  a  chorus  of  congratulations 
and  many  slappings  on  the  back.  It  was  the  usual 
ovation  to  a  freshly-nominated  member  of  the  school 
cricket  eleven. 

"  That  fellow,"  observed  Sir  Edward,  as  he  explained 
the  custom  to  Lady  Giddy,  "  is  tasting  the  sweetness 
of  triumph  in  a  way  that  few  men  ever  do.  With 
these  boys,  cricket  is  a  fetish  and  there  is  an  idolatrous 
reverence  shown  to  the  members  of  the  cricket  eleven, 
which  is  certainly  never  shown  by  the  House  of  Com- 
mons to  the  Cabinet,  perhaps  not  even  by  the  College 
of  Cardinals  to  the  Pope.  This  boy's  sole  insignia  are 
the  right  to  wear  white  flannels  instead  of  gray  and 
blue  and  a  speckled  straw  hat  instead  of  a  white  one, 
but  in  this  microcosm  he  is  as  absolute  as  a  Csesar 
and  as  infallible  as  a  Sovereign  Pontiff  in  their  larger 
spheres." 

"  Pom-pom  !  "  whispered  Coryton  in  Violet's  ear,  at 
the  end  of  this  tirade. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  scene,"  she  said,  taking  his  elbow 
in  her  little  hand  affectionately.  "Where  are  you 
taking  me  ?  "  she  added,  as  he  led  her  up  the  school 
steps. 

"Into  the  fourth-form 'room,  to  show  you  Byron's 
name.  It  is  the  only  sight  worth  seeing  here.  After 
lunch  I  want  you  to  send  the  others  on  to  see  the 
Chapel  and  the  Vaughan  Library  and  all  the  rest  of 
it,  while  you  come  with  me  and  pretend  to  watch 
cricket." 

"  That's  all  settled,  is  it,  Poley  ? "  she  asked  mis- 
chievously. 

"  Yes,  Vixie." 

They  entered  the  old  school-room,  with  its  battered 
oak  panels,  and  peered  about  among  the  historic  carv- 
ings. They  were  both  of  the  age  which  makes  for 
Byron- worship,  and  they  peered  with  the  respect  of 
pilgrims  at  the  rough  marks  of  the  poet's  jack-knife. 


TUE  SCAPEGOAT.  27 

"  How  disgustingly  modern !  "  she  exclaimed  pres- 
ently, pointing  to  the  top  panels  all  round  the  room, 
where  serried  rows  of  names  had  been  precisely  carved, 
one  underneath  the  other,  by  the  village  carpenter  at 
half-a-crown  a  name.  "  I  hope  you  won't  have  yours 
put  up  in  that  way.  What  possible  interest  can  those 
have  to  any  one  on  earth,  except  perhaps  the  man  paid 
for  measuring  them  out.  Fancy  the  generation  after 
next  coming  here  to  look  for  Walpole  Coryton's  name 
and  finding  it  lost  in  that  mechanical  array." 

"  I  promise  you  it  shan't,"  he  laughed,  as  they  went 
out. 

Tyrconnel  greeted  them  enthusiastically  outside. 
"  Now,  Vixie,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  mine  from  now 
until  the  clock  strikes  half-past  two.  I  am  like  a  poor 
ghost,  who  is  only  allowed  to  walk  about  for  a  certain 
period  of  time.  When  the  fatal  hour  tolls,  I  shall  be 
mewed  up  in  yon  prison  house  and  Coryton  will  resume 
his  sway." 

"That's  alarming,"  she  laughed,  starting  full  pelt 
down  the  hill  towards  the  cricket-ground. 

Coryton  and  Tyrconnel  made  off  in  hot  pursuit,  while 
Pimlico  and  Gaverigan  piloted  the  rest  of  the  party  to 
the  King's  Head  to  order  lunch. 

That  meal  proved  a  great  success,  everybody  having 
a  regular  schoolboy  appetite  and  being  in  the  best  of 
humors.  Violet  sat  between  her  two  "  best  boys,"  as 
she  called  Coryton  and  Tyrconnel,  and  carried  on  a 
desperate  flirtation  with  Pimlico  across  the  table ;  Sir 
Edward  and  Colonel  Lockhart  grew  reminiscent  of 
their  Harrow  school  days,  while  Lady  Giddy  discussed 
French  novels  confidentially  with  Gaverigan. 

When  it  was  time  for  Tyrconnel  to  go  through 
his  penance  of  spending  two  hours  and  a  half  in  a  stuffy 
school-room  copying  out  the  Latin  Grammar,  Violet 
showed  herself  unusually  sympathetic,  walking  part 
of  the  way  with  him  and  talking  eagerly  of  future 
meetings.  She  would  try  to  persuade  her  uncle  to  come 
down  again  for  another  cricket  match,  but  at  any  rate 
they  would  meet  at  Lord's  for  the  Eton  and  Harrow, 
and  Lord  Baltinglass  had  asked  her  to  Blarney  later 
on. 


28  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

"  You  won't  forget  me,  Wilfrid  ? "  she  said,  with  a 
very  plausible  affectation  of  tearfulness,  as  they  parted 
outside  Wilbee's  bookshop. 

"  The  stars  may  fall  and  the  angels  be  weeping — "  he 
began,  but  she  knew  the  quotation  and  was  running  off 
with  a  friendly  wave  of  her  parasol. 

"  Now  for  the  other  little  fish,"  she  laughed  to  her- 
self, as  she  espied  Coryton  standing  moodily  outside 
the  little  circle  of  her  friends  near  Mr.  Wellesley's 
house.  Sir  Edward  was  proposing  the  usual  round  of 
sight-seeing,  beginning  with  the  Vaughan  Library  and 
ending  with  the  reputed  scene  of  Byron's  meditations 
in  the  churchyard  on  the  hill- top. 

"  I  am  much  too  tired  for  all  that  in  this  hot  weather," 
Violet  exclaimed  as  she  came  up.  "  You  can  all  go  and 
trot  yourselves  off  your  legs  if  you  like.  Poley  and  I 
are  going  down  to  watch  cricket  and  eat  cherries  in  the 
shade.  I  suppose  we'll  meet  you  at  four-bill." 

«  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Lady  Giddy. 

"  The  roll-call,"  explained  Sir  Edward :  "  these  poor 
boys  have  to  go  through  that  ceremony  five  times  on  a 
whole  holiday.  It  doesn't  give  them  much  time  to  get 
into  mischief,  does  it  ?  Vi  is  getting  to  talk  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country  quite  nicely,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"Poley  is  such  a  capital  teacher,"  she  murmured, 
looking  the  boy  full  in  the  eyes. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  to  ? "  she  asked  him 
presently,  as  her  programme  was  being  carried  out  and 
the  others  had  started  off  for  the  library. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  my  room,  will  you  ?  " 
he  said,  leading  the  way  into  Mr.  Wellesley's  house  as 
if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  Well  you  are  a  cheeky  boy ! "  she  exclaimed  with 
a  slight  flush  and  dancing  eyes,  following  him  all  the 
same. 

"  You  have  had  your  name  cut  by  the  village  car- 
penter after  all,'r  she  remarked,  pausing  before  one  of 
the  boards  covered  with  rows  of  names  that  lined  the 
staircase- wall ;  "  I  thought  you  disapproved  of  the 
practice  this  morning  ?  " 

"  That  was  in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  agreeing 
with  you,"  he  replied ;  "  besides  I  had  no  choice,  every 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  29 

new  boy  finds  that  the  house  does  it  at  his  expense, 
the  half-crown  being  deducted  from  his  allowance." 

"  You  are  a  cool  boy,  you  know,"  she  said,  as  they 
entered  his  room.  "  I  think  that's  one  of  the  reasons 
why  I  like  you  so  much,  Poley.  I  have  a  fellow-feeling 
for  you,  because  I  am  accustomed  to  do  pretty  impu- 
dent things  myself  sometimes.  The  way  you  took  it 
for  granted  that  I  would  come  up  here  was  simply 
magnificent.  I  don't  think  I'd  have  come  if  you'd  asked 
me  any  other  way,  and  I  certainly  should  not  have  come 
for  anybody  else." 

"  It  is  sweet  of  you  to  say  that.  I  didn't  at  all  take 
it  for  granted,  though.  I  thought  that  was  the  best 
chance  of  getting  you,  and  I  am  awfully  glad  it  has 
succeeded." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  too.  What  a  pretty  room  you've 
got !  "  she  went  on,  walking  round  and  peering  at  every- 
thing, taking  down  books,  examining  the  marks  of 
china  and  smiling  at  the  extravagance  of  an  Impres- 
sionist caricature  of  art.  "  I  had  no  idea  boys  were  so 
comfortable." 

"  They  aren't,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  show  you  some 
other  rooms  presently  more  like  bear-gardens  than 
human  habitations." 

She  sat  on  the  window-seat,  surveying  the  room 
critically.  "  It  is  very  well  arranged,"  she  commented ; 
"you  have  too  many  things  in  it,  for  the  size,  but  one 
would  scarcely  notice  it.  That  is  the  highest  possible 
tribute  to  your  taste.  One  should  aim  at  getting  the 
whole  of  Wardour  Street  into  a  garret  and  yet  making 
it  look  as  bare  as  a  billiard-table.  Even  shabbiness  is 
preferable  to  overcrowding.  After  all,  I  think  it  is 
more  like  a  boudoir  than  a  study.  All  those  flowers 
suggest  effeminacy.  I  have  never  quite  made  up  my 
mind  whether  you  are  effeminate,  or  only  lazy." 

"  Oh,  effeminate,  by  all  means.  I  have  a  theory  that, 
to  be  really  charming,  no  man  can  be  too  effeminate 
and  no  woman  too  masculine." 

"  I'm  not  masculine,  please  remember." 

"  I  wondered  whether  you'd  say  that.  You  have  a 
masculine  mind,  certainly.  You  are  naturally  rash, 
but  you  are  the  sort  of  person  who  doesn't  make  mis- 


30  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

takes.  You  are  at  the  same  time  utterly  unscrupulous. 
Now,  if  I  know  anything  of  life — " 

"  Which  you  don't." 

"  If  I  know  anything  of  life,  that  is  a  very  powerful 
combination.  Calculated  recklessness  is  the  philos- 
opher's stone  in  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  You  are  very  young  to  be  such  a  philosopher,"  she 
said,  smiling. 

"  Sijeune  et  dejtijils  de  ministre  !  "  he  quoted. 

She  watched  him  curiously  for  nearly  a  minute. 

"  Do  you  know  ?  I  think  our  characters  are  very 
much  alike,"  she  said  at  length.  ...  "I  see  the  others 
down  there,"  she  added  presently ;  "  after  you  have 
given  me  a  glass  of  that  cherry-brandy,  you  can  go  and 
fetch  them  up.  It  might  seem  odd,  if  we  were  seen 
coming  out  of  the  house  alone  together." 

"  In  that  oddness  lies  our  safety,"  he  replied,  holding 
the  door  open  for  her. 

Meanwhile  the  hours  had  been  going  very  slowly  to 
Tyrconnel  over  his  unproductive  labors  in  the  hot, 
sulky  schoolroom.  His  face  lit  up  with  pleasure  when 
at  last  the  two  and  a  half  hours  were  over  and  he  found 
Coryton  playing  at  yard-cricket  while  waiting  for  him. 

It  is  a  capital  game  for  spare  moments  and  merits 
mention  as  a  Harrow  institution.  The  batsman  is 
solely  occupied  in  defending  his  wicket,  he  has  no  time 
to  think  of- 'making  runs.  The  bowlers  are  legion; 
anybody  who  happens  to  be  about  takes  his  turn ;  as 
soon  as  one  ball  has  been  parried  another  follows,  and 
then  another  in  breathless  succession.  Whoever  bowls 
the  batsman  out  is  privileged  to  take  his  place.  The 
beauty  of  the  game  is  the  quickness  with  which  it  goes 
along.  In  rapidity  and  variety  of  emotion  it  bears  the 
same  relation  to  real  cricket  that  roulette  or  baccarat 
do  to  whist  or  betting  on  the  tape. 

When  Tyrconnel  came  out,  the  yard  was  very  full, 
and,  seeing  that  Coryton  was  batting,  he  stood  for 
some  moments  admiring  the  skill  and  alertness  with 
which  he  defended  his  wicket,  never  trying  to  hit  far, 
but  never  allowing  any  ball  to  take  him  unawares. 

When  Coryton  saw  Tyrconnel,  he  threw  down  his 
bat  and  cried  out  to  a  friend, "  There  you  are,  Williams, 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  31 

you  can  have  my  innings.  Pigeon,  I'm  your  man. 
Poor  old  fellow !  "  he  went  on  as  he  caught  him  up, 
"  you  do  look  pulled  down  after  this  inhuman  torture, 
I  couldn't  neglect  you  for  another  instant.  Let's  start 
at  once  for  Ducker.  A  bathe  will  do  you  all  the  good 
in  the  world." 

The  boys  set  off  down  the  steep  path  to  the  football 
field.  Tyrconnel  wanted  to  hear  everything  that  Violet 
had  said  and  done,  but  Cory  ton  preferred  to  talk  about 
the  Derby. 

"  I'm  not  quite  satisfied  about  my  book,"  he  said, 
in  answer  to  a  tirade  about  Violet's  laugh,  "  if  Gone- 
away  wins  I  shall  lose  a  pot.  Of  course  it's  got  no 
chance  on  the  Two  Thousand  running,  but  horses  are 
almost  as  ticklish  as  young  ladies,  though  in  a  different 
sense.  However,  I  feel  more  cocksure  every  day 
about  Jumping  Cat.  I've  a  great  mind  to  give  the 
Basket-man  a  fiver  to  put  on.  It's  a  nuisance  there 
not  being  any  book-maker  here  one  can  trust,  and  if  I 
sent  to  one  of  the  Boulogne  men,  the  answer  might  get 
intercepted." 

"The  Basket-man  welshed  Williams  and  Wilmot 
over  the  Cesarewitch,"  replied  Tyrconnel,  as  they 
crossed  the  stile  into  the  football  field. 

It  was  looking  its  best,  with  the  sun  lighting  up 
the  hay  cocks,  and  along  the  broad  path  in  the  centre 
were  endless  boys,  generally  in  twos  and  threes,  going 
to  and  from  the  bathing-place,  some  with  towels  and 
others  with  bags  of  buns  for  consumption  after  the 
bath. 

Coryton  mentally  compared  them  to  ants.  Tyrcon- 
nel thought  of  Jacob's  ladder. 

"  How  do  you  stand  on  the  race  ?  "  the  former  asked 
presently  as  they  sauntered  on,  drawing  deep  breaths 
of  the  hay-scented  air. 

"  I've  put  my  shirt  on  Sir  Galahad.  I'll  back  him 
against  Jumping  Cat,  even  money,  if  you  like." 

"All  right,  even  tenner,  one  to  win." 

Tyrconnel  took  out  a  neat  small  morocco  pocket- 
book  and  was  proceeding  to  enter  the  bet  in  pencil, 
when  a  cheery  voice  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"  Well,  Tyrconnel,  what  have  you  got  there  ?  "  and 


32  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

Mr.  Wellesley,  who  was  hurrying  down  to  the  bathing- 
place  to  preside  at  a  swimming-pass,  snatched  the 
pocket-book  playfully  out  of  his  hand. 

"  Please  give  me  that  back,  sir,"  the  boy  pleaded, 
"there  are  private  matters  in  it." 

Mr.  Wellesley  was  about  to  do  so,  when  an  entry 
caught  his  eye  :  "  Derby,  G.  £2  to  £10  Gladiator."  His 
face  suddenly  grew  grave.  "Here  is  your  book,  Mr. 
Tyrconnel,  I  have  seen  quite  enough." 

He  was  about  to  stride  on,  when  a  thought  struck 
him. 

"Were  you  betting  with  him  then,  Coryton?"  he 
asked. 

"  No,  sir,  certainly  not.  I  was  giving  Tyrconnel  the 
address  of  a  racket-shop  he  asked  me  for." 

The  statement  was  made  so  simply  and  straightfor- 
wardly that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  it. 

"  Very  well,"  the  master  assented,  passing  on ;  "  Mr. 
Tyrconnel,  I  will  see  you  in  my  study  after  lock-up." 

"  You  are  an  unlucky  beggar,"  Coryton  began. 

"You  are  an  astounding  liar,"  Tyrconnel  replied, 
rather  testily.  "  I  can't  stand  untruthfulness.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is  I  have  liked  you  so  much." 

"  Pshaw,  when  a  man  asks  you  indiscreet  question's, 
you  have  a  perfect  right  to  lie.  It  is  an  acknowledged 
principle  of  ethics.  Walter  Scott  denied  the  author- 
ship of  the  Waverley  novels  point-blank,  when  the 
Wellesley  of  his  day  had  the  impudence  to  ask.  And 
Walter  Scott  was  an  honorable  man." 

They  entered  the  bathing-place,  Tyrconnel  a  little 
disturbed  by  the  incident,  Coryton  utterly  unmoved. 

"  Ducker  "  was  pretty  full.  Mr.  Wellesley  was  mar- 
shalling his  swimmers  for  the  pass  and  a  big  boy  was 
just  entering  the  water  with  a  sounding  plash ;  but  on 
the  whole  it  was  an  atmosphere  of  laziness,  most  of  the 
boys  seemed  to  be  lying  about  on  the  seats,  on  the 
pavement  even,  wrapped  up  in  great  rough  bath-sheets, 
munching  buns  and  basking  in  the  sun.  Even  the 
boys  in  the  water  seemed  very  drowsy  in  their  move- 
ments, for  it  was  an  exceedingly  hot  day. 

After  the  bath  our  two  friends  got  separated, 
Coryton  walking  up  with  Williams  and  Wilmot,  two 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  33 

boys  in  another  house,  from  whom  he  wanted  the 
odds  against  Jumping  Cat  for  the  Derby  and  a  promise 
to  join  a  card-party  in  Tyrconnel's  room  on  the  day  of 
the  race. 

In  the  evening  Tyrconnel  had  an  unpleasant  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Wellesley,  who  was  at  first  inclined  to 
send  him  up  to  the  head-master  on  the  charge  of  bet- 
ting, but  at  length  consented,  in  view  of  the  way  in 
which  he  had  made  the  discovery,  to  commute  the 
punishment  to  500  Latin  lines. 

He  had  also  to  communicate  the  fact  that  Mr.  Brooks 
had  informed  him  of  Tyrconnel's  presence  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  that  he  declined  to  reduce  the  penalty  he  had 
imposed  by  a  single  line. 

"  I  cannot  say  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Tyrconnel," 
he  said  in  severe  tones,  as  he  dismissed  him,  "you 
know  you  only  had  to  ask  my  leave  and  I  would  have 
allowed  you  to  meet  Sir  Edward  at  the  station  with 
pleasure." 

"  It's  very  hard  lines,  sir." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  dare  say,  but  you  must  learn  that  you 
cannot  break  rules  with  impunity." 

The  next  few  days  were  days  of  toil  for  the  unfort- 
unate boy,  for  he  was  very  anxious  to  get  his  lines 
done  by  Wednesday,  when  an  extra-special  card-party 
had  been  convened  to  his  room  in  honor  of  Derby  day. 

The  proverb  about  more  haste  and  worse  speed  was 
exemplified  in  his  case  by  the  further  calamity  of  a 
surprise  visit  from  Mr.  Wellesley  while  he  was  engaged 
in  the  process  known  as  "  tollying-up,"  or  working  by 
candle-light  after  the  legal  hours.  Mr.  Wellesley  had 
seen  the  light  in  his  room  from  the  road  when  return- 
ing from  a  master's  meeting,  and  punished  him  by  tear- 
ing up  his  whole  evening's  work. 

A  light  had  also  been  burning  in  Coryton's  room,  but 
when  Mr.  Wellesley  arrived  he  was  already  in  bed, 
with  his  exercise  for  next  morning  carefully  stowed 
away  in  his  tall  hat. 

"  You  had  a  candle,  Coryton,"  said  Mr.  Wellesley 
abruptly,  as  he  entered. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Coryton  simply,  knowing  instinct- 
ively that  denial  was  useless. 
3 


34  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Well,  it  will  not  help  you  much,  for  I  shall  tear  up 
the  work  you  have  been  doing." 

He  went  up  to  the  table  and  destroyed  several  sheets 
of  exercise  paper  which  he  found  there,  covered  with 
Coryton's  handwriting. 

"  You  will  have  to  get  up  early  to-morrow  morning 
and  do  it  all  over  again,"  he  added  maliciously  as  he 
left  the  room. 

Coryton  waited  until  Mr.  Wellesley's  step  was  heard 
far  down  the  creaking  stair.  Then  he  burst  into  a  peal 
of  hearty  laughter,  which  lasted  so  long  that  Shepheard 
presently  came  in  from  next  door  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

"  He  has  torn  up  my  rough  copy,"  said  Coryton  with 
another  wild  burst  of  merriment. 

When  Derby  day  came,  Tyrconnel  had  finished  his 
punishment  and  was  in  excellent  spirits  again,  as  he 
welcomed  his  friends  after  fourth  school.  Cards  and 
drinks  were  produced  and  the  poker,  as  usual,  was 
placed  in  the  door. 

"Nobody's  heard  the  result  yet  of  course?"  said 
Coryton  interrogatively,  as  they  all  sat  down.  "  Grey 
is  to  have  a  telegram  and  will  hang  about  with  it  out- 
side the  house  as  soon  as  it  comes." 

The  game  went  on  for  some  time  with  varying 
fortunes.  Williams  and  Wilmot  were  evidently  nerv- 
ous about  the  result  of  the  race  and  played  badly. 
Coryton,  as  usual,  was  utterly  unpreoccupied  and 
laughed  gaily  all  the  while,  though  his  interest  in  the 
race  was  considerably  larger  than  theirs. 

After  about  an  hour's  play,  Wilmot,  who  had  been 
looking  furtively  out  of  the  windows  between  each 
deal,  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Isn't  that  Weller's  coach- 
man down  there  by  the  railings  ?  Run  and  see  what  it 
is,  Coryton,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

Coryton  needed  no  second  bidding. 

"  That's  Grey  right  enough,"  he  said,  after  a  glance 
out  of  the  window,  "  I'll  be  back  in  two  jiffs." 

He  had  scarcely  been  absent  longer  than  is  implied 
by  half  that  mysterious  measure  of  time,  when  an 
authoritative  knock  came  at  the  door.  Williams  and 
Wilmot  had  wished  to  wait  for  Coryton's  return,  but 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  35 

Pimlico,  who  was  losing,  would  not  hear  of  it,  so  the 
poker  had  been  replaced  in  the  door. 

"  How  quick  he's  been,"  growled  Pimlico,  who  had 
only  one  bet  on  the  race  and  disliked  being  disturbed. 

Gaverigan,  who  was  nearest  the  door,  pulled  out 
the  poker,  and  a  chorus  of  eager  voices  exclaimed, 
"Well,  what's  won?" 

Then  there  was  a  moment  of  silence  that  could  be 
felt,  the  sort  of  silence  which  immediately  precedes  the 
crash  in  some  great  cataclysm. 

Mr.  Wellesley  stood  before  them,  his  upper  lip 
trembling  with  auger  and  excitement. 

"Williams  and  Wilmot,"  he  cried  in  a  choking 
voice,  "what  are  you  doing  here?  Leave  the  house 
instantly." 

The  boys  obeyed  sheepishly,  looking  very  much 
ashamed  of  themselves.  Mr.  Wellesley  watched  them 
sternly,  with  his  arm  outstretched  and  pointing  to  the 
door. 

When  they  were  gone,  he  took  up  the  cards  two  or 
three  at  a  time,  gravely  tearing  them  in  two  and  fling- 
ing them  into  the  grate  as  he  did  so. 

The  boys  had  risen  and  stood  about  the  room  in  un- 
comfortable attitudes.  Tyrconnel  looked  annoyed  but 
not  frightened;  Pimlico's  face  was  inscrutable  and, 
but  for  occasional  sniffs  through  the  nose,  showed  no 
signs  of  emotion ;  Gaverigan  was  whistling  under  his 
breath  to  conceal  his  feelings ;  Shepheard  was  red  in 
the  face  and  inclined  to  be  tearful. 

After  destroying  the  cards,  Mr.  Wellesley  espied  a 
bottle  of  claret  and  a  bottle  of  cherry-brandy  on  a  side- 
table. 

An  ominous  silence  reigned.  Mr.  Wellesley  was  too 
much  agitated  to  speak. 

He  took  the  bottles  and  poured  out  their  contents 
into  a  foot-bath,  his  hand  shaking  nervously  all  the 
while. 

When  he  had  done,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  You  will 
all  be  sent  up  to  the  head-master,"  and  left  the  room 
hastily,  shutting  the  door  after  him. 

The  boys  remained  silent  for  some  time,  sitting  look- 
ing at  each  other. 


36  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  What  extraordinary  luck  that  fellow  Cory  ton  has," 
said  Tyrconnel  at  last.  "  What  a  nose  to  choose  that 
very  moment  to  go  down  and  talk  to  Grey." 

The  others  laughed  nervously. 

There  was  a  cheery  knock  at  the  door  and  that  en- 
vied mortal  burst  in,  with  a  grim  smile  on  his  usually 
unmoved  face. 

"Jumping  Cat,  Garibaldi,  The  Butcher,"  he  cried 
gleefully,  before  he  had  time  to  realize  the  situation. 

"  Why,  what's  up  ? "  he  added,  after  a  short,  sur- 
prised pause. 

"  We  are  betrayed,"  replied  Gaverigan,  in  tragi-com- 
ical  tones. 

"  Who's  been  drinking  all  my  cherry-brandy  ?  "  pur- 
sued Cory  ton,  pointing  to  the  empty  bottle ;  "  won't 
anybody  tell  me  what  has  happened?  Have  you  been 
raided  by  the  police,  or  what  ?  " 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  would  quite  believe  in 
what  had  taken  place.  When  he  did  take  it  in,  his 
first  impulse  was  to  raise  a  Te  Deum  to  his  lucky  star. 

"  It  is  better  to  be  born  lucky,  than  rich  or  wise  or 
good,  my  Pigeon,"  he  remarked  sententiously,  after  it 
had  all  been  described  to  him  at  least  a  dozen  times. 

Then  came  a  feeling  of  annoyance  that  there  could 
be  no  more  cards  that  term,  but  the  joy  over  his 
miraculous  escape  kept  predominant  and,  when  he 
thought  it  over  afterwards,  he  really  felt  more  glad 
than  sorry  that  the  discovery  had  taken  place.  The 
victory  of  Jumping  Cat  in  the  Derby  had  put  his 
finances  more  than  straight  and  his  absence  from 
the  fatal  game  would  remove  from  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Wellesley  the  germs  of  suspicion  about  him,  which 
he  knew  existed  there  to  some  extent.  Indeed  the 
more  he  thought  of  it  all,  the  more  he  liked  it.  Never 
for  an  instant  did  any  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the 
sufferers  cross  his  mind.  He  chaffed  them  about 
their  probable  fate  until  they  got  as  nearly  angry 
with  him  as  anybody  ever  could. 

"  You'll  get  it  hottest  of  all,  Pigeon,"  he  was  say- 
ing when  the  lock-up  bell  ra»g,  "  I  really  never  heard 
of  such  a  scapegrace  in  my  life  as  you  are  turning 
out.  Extra-schools,  betting-books,  out  of  bounds, 


THE  SCAPEGOAT.  37 

tollying-up,  and  now  this  disgraceful  orgy>  this  attempt 
to  turn  a  respectable  master's  house  into  a  low  drink- 
ing saloon  and  dicing-den." 

Coryton's  jesting  prognostications  came  true.  Tyr- 
connel  was  subjected  to  long  and  anxious  interroga- 
tion by  his  house-master  and  the  head-master,  and  a 
public  expulsion  was  seriously  discussed.  In  the  end 
milder  counsels  prevailed  and  he  was  "requested  to 
leave,"  that  is  to  say,  sent  away  without  the  publicity 
and  disgrace  of  a  regular  expulsion. 

The  other  boys  were  degraded  from  their  forms. 
The  ceremony  took  place  publicly  at  "bill."  As  it 
came  to  the  turn  of  one  of  them  to  answer  his  name, 
the  master  motioned  him  to  come  up  and  stand  on 
the  school  steps  and  wait  until  his  form  had  passed. 
Then  the  boy  took  his  place  again  at  the  head  of  the 
next  form,  answered  his  name,  touched  his  hat  and 
walked  away.  The  ordeal  would  have  been  far  more 
severe  if  the  sufferers  had  not  known  that  they  pos- 
sessed the  entire  sympathy  of  their  audience,  who 
viewed  the  proceedings  with  chill  silence. 

Coryton  perhaps  alone  looked  on  with  satisfaction, 
and  many  were  the  congratulations  he  received  from 
those  who  had  heard  the  story. 

"  I  really  think  I  must  furbish  up  a  votive  offering 
for  the  altar  of  Saint  Blaise,  or  whoever  it  is  that 
patronizes  poor  gamblers,"  he  said  at  last. 

The  term  passed  on  uneventfully  after  the  catas- 
trophe. Coryton  had  an  opportunity  of  renewing  his 
flirtation  with  Violet  at  the  Eton  and  Harrow  match 
and,  as  no  one  else  of  his  set  had  been  allowed  an 
exeat,  he  had  all  the  running  to  himself. 

The  term  came  quickly  enough  to  an  end  and,  as 
he  sat  in  the  train  leaving  Harrow  for  the  last  time, 
he  could  not  help  marvelling  at  the  singular  good 
luck  that  had  attended  every  incident  of  his  life. 

Even  during  the  next  fifteen  months  at  Heidelberg 
it  did  not  seem  to  fail  him.  It  failed  him  perhaps 
for  a  moment  at  the  thjfe  of  his  father's  death,  but 
that,  he  told  himself  a  little  later,  was  really  a  lucky 
stroke  after  all,  for  it  left  him  his  own  master,  free 
to  put  to  the  proof  the  paternal  advice  that  his  best 
friend  was  himself. 


38  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

CAMBRIDGE. 

"  The  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear." 

OLD  SONG. 

WALPOLE  CORYTOX  had  quite  settled  down  at  Cam- 
bridge. The  bitter  memories  of  the  weeks  which 
followed  his  father's  death,  were  safely  locked  in  his 
breast,  stowed  away  like  skeletons  in  a  cupboard. 
If  ever  he  allowed  himself  to  have  a  peep  at  them, 
it  was  only  as  a  reminder  of  what  was  and  might  be, 
and  to  impress  upon  himself  the  necessity  of  keeping 
guard.  Not  that  he  needed  such  a  reminder.  He  had 
laid  his  plans  carefully,  and  they  were  developing 
themselves  in  a  manner  which  came  up  to  his  most 
sanguine  expectations. 

His  first  year  at  Cambridge  passed  uneventfully 
enough.  It  is  with  most  freshmen  a  period  of  transi- 
tion— the  half-way  house  between  babyhood  and  B.A- 
hood — but  with  Walpole  Coryton  it  had  been  rather  a 
period  of  taking  stock  and  settling  down. 

As  he  had  calculated,  when  he  enrolled  his  name 
upon  the  "  ancient,  royal,  and  religious  foundation  "  of 
Trinity,  his  old  Harrow  friends  quickly  rallied  around 
him.  He  was  elected  as  a  matter  of  course  to  all  the 
best*lubs  and  became  part  and  parcel  of  the  gilded 
youth  of  the  University,  bone  of  their  bone  and  flesh 
of  their  flesh. 

One  of  the  "  new  humorists," — whose  newness,  say 
some,  is  more  evident  than  their  humor, — has  divided 
undergraduate  Cambridge  into  "bloods"  and  "  smugs," 
much  as  some  one  else  once  divided  mankind  into  apes 
and  angels.  Lord  Beaconsfield  on  a  memorable  occa- 


CAMBRIDGE.  39 

sion  wisely  expressed  himself  "on  the  side  of  the 
angels."  Coryton,  wiser  still,  determined  to  make  the 
best  of  both. 

Roughly  speaking,  there  are  not  two  but  three  great 
classes,  the  aristocracy  the  plutocracy  (if  indeed  there 
be  still  any  distinction  between  the  two)  and  the  democ- 
racy. The  first  gives  cachet,  the  second  means  cash, 
the  third  is  crachat,  and  all  these  three — at  least  so 
Walpole  Coryton  argued — are  necessary  to  a  perfect  life. 

With  the  first  two  of  them,  he  was  already  in  touch ; 
the  problem  was  how  to  make  use  of  the  third.  He 
solved  it  in  this  way.  There  is  in  Cambridge  an  insti- 
tution known  as  the  Union  Society.  Its  influence  in 
the  University  is  altogether  overrated  by  those  outside. 
But  to  a  man  who  aspires  to  political  life,  the  training 
which  it  affords  is  invaluable.  Coryton  did  aspire  to 
political  life,  and  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  the 
Union  might  be  utilized  by  him  as  a  sort  of  field,  in 
which  to  take  a  preliminary  canter  before  settling 
down  to  the  serious  business  of  the  race  for  name  and 
fame. 

He  conceived  the  idea  of  becoming  President  of  the 
Union — and  having  conceived  it,  he  proceeded  to  carry 
it  into  effect.  He  became  a  frequent  speaker  at  its 
debates.  He  united  with  a  fluent  and  lucid  delivery 
an  engaging  manner  and  a  seriousness  which  he  did 
not  feel.  He  had  the  knack  of  appearing  in  earnest 
over  everything.  He  was  a  Tory  of  course,  as  befitted 
the  son  of  the  late  Judge- Advocate-General,  but  his 
Toryism  was  of  a  very  elastic  and  progressive  type, 
and  he  was  a  devout  worshipper  at  the  shrine  of  the 
Jumping  Cat — that  patron  saint  of  latter-day  politi- 
cians. 

As  a  political  speaker,  he  was  very  successful ;  he 
cultivated  an  extra-parliamentary  manner,  and  affected 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Tory  Leaders*  His 
Church  speeches  were  excellent,  and  he  was  careful 
always  to  avoid  wounding  the  Nonconformist  con- 
science, as  represented  by  the  "  pi"  men  from  the  Col- 
leges over  the  border.  They  all  had  votes ! 

Coryton  "  kept "  in  large  rooms  on  the  King's  Parade, 
the  windows  of  which  overlooked  Henry  VI.'s  "hoary 


40  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

regal  fane,"  and  gave  exquisite  glimpses  of  the 
blossoming  college  gardens  and  leafy  backs.  He  had 
brought  his  Lares  and  Penates  from  Harrow  with  him 
to  Cambridge  and  added  to  them.  His  shelves  had 
been  enriched,  if  not  adorned,  by  the  addition  of  several 
blue-books.  On  his  walls  were  sundry  flaring  daubs 
by  French  Impressionist  painters,  which  certainly  had 
the  merit  of  eccentricity:  a  crucifixion  by  Besnard, 
depicted  on  the  Hill  of  Montmartre,  with  a  Magdalene 
in  cafe  chantant  costume ;  a  Cochin  China  landscape 
by  Louis  Dumoulin  with  Cochin  China  hens  in  the 
foreground ;  and,  for  British  art,  a  portrait  of  the  late 
Judge-Advocate-General  in  Whistler-and-treacle  style, 
by  Mr.  Walter  Slick.  There  was  also  a  group  of  the 
Government,  of  which  his  father  had  been  a  minor 
member. 

Over  the  fireplace,  by  way  of  displaying  hero- 
worship,  were  prints  of  Napoleon,  Disraeli,  Marl- 
borough,  and  Ignatius  Loyola ;  a  bust  in  bronze  of  Zuma- 
lacarregui  and  one  in  marble  of  Lord  Byron ;  a  large 
engraving  from  a  picture  of  Charles  II. ;  and  a  rc-w  of 
medallions  of  the  Caesars.  All  were  in  fairly  close  com- 
munion with  the  owner's  character,  in  which  the  frank 
cynicism  of  the  witty  king,  the  self-conceit  of  the  poet, 
the  dash  of  the  guerrilla-leader  and  the  simple  subtlety 
of  the  first  Jesuit  all  found  their  part.  It  was  not 
merely  worship  at  the  shrine  of  success ;  it  was  also  a 
confession  of  faith  in  calculated  foolhardiness,  sincere 
insincerity  and  the  vices  as  a  means  to  an  end. 

If  the  elder  Cory  ton— from  his  place  above  or  below 
— could  by  some  occult  vision,  have  peered  into  his 
son's  room,  he  would  doubtless  have  been  much  touched 
by  the  post-mortem,  filial  devotion  evidenced  by  the 
prominence  of  his  portrait.  But  then,  as  Walpole  said 
to  himself,  "  He  never  was  of  any  use  to  me  when  he 
was  alive,  he  may  as  well  be  of  some  little  use  to  me 
now  that  he  is  dead,"  and  all  these  blue-books  and  min- 
isterial groups  helped  to  impress  his  supporters  at  the 
Union. 

He  would  ask  some  of  them  to  breakfast  now  and 
then — very  early  breakfasts,  so  as  to  get  them  out  of 
the  way  before  Pimlico  or  Tyrcoimel  or  any  other  of 


CAMBRIDGE.  41 

that  ilk  dropped  in — and  they  would  settle  the  affairs 
of  the  nation  to  their  own  satisfaction,  the  host  doing 
most  of  the  listening.  And  they  always  went  away 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  Coryton  of  Trinity  was 
really  a  very  clever  fellow,  though,  of  course,  not  quite 
so  clever  as  themselves. 

"  Whatever  makes  you  keep  on  the  K.  P.,  Coryton  ?  " 
indolently  asked  Sir  Lauder  Forbes,  an  impecunious 
young  Scottish  baronet,  whose  almost  girlish  beauty 
had  earned  for  him  at  Eton  the  pet  name  of  "  Dolly." 
"  Why  don't  you  come  to  Jesus  Lane  ?  Everywhere 
else  is  so  far  off." 

Coryton  laughed  and  parried  the  question. 

"  Oh !  I  didn't  know,  you  see.  When  I  came  up, 
Joey  Prior  had  taken  the  rooms  for  me,  and  it's  too 
much  trouble  to  move.  Next  term  I  shall  be  in  col- 
lege." 

Truth  to  tell,  he'was  rather  glad  to  be  a  little  "  far 
off " ;  it  gave  him  more  time  to  himself  and  a  freer 
hand.  The  things  which  were  to  Forbes  and  his  set 
the  summum  bonum  of  Cambridge  life — Athenaeum 
Teas,  "  True  Blue "  functions,  Cottenham  meetings  and 
so  forth — were  to  Coryton  only  phases,  to  be  utilized  as 
means  to  the  end  he  had  in  view — the  advancement  of 
himself. 

The  consciousness  of  this  never  left  him ;  it  regulated 
even  the  trifling  incidents  of  his  life — for  he  knew  the 
value  of  trifles,  and  despised  not  the  day  of  small 
things. 

It  was  with  him  this  evening  while  he  dressed  him- 
self leisurely  and  sallied  forth  to  join  the  "Yellow- 
hammers." 

The  Yellowhammers  was  a  dining  club  at  Magda- 
lene, one  of  the  many  dining  clubs  of  the  little  college 
down  by  the  riverside,  whose  tutelary  deities  are  Bac- 
chus and  Diana.  But  the  Yellowhammers  was  the 
most  select  of  all  the  Magdalene  Clubs,  so  select  in  fact 
that  its  numbers  were  once  reduced  to  two  and  never 
exceeded  six. 

It  mustered  about  that  number  now,  but  there  were 
guests  beside,  who  brought  the  total  number  on  this 
particular  evening  up  to  twelve.  Although  admission 


42  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

was  so  difficult,  the  rules  were  very  simple  and  were 
summed  up  in  the  obligation  of  each  member  to  give  a 
dinner  during  term.  These  functions  were  attended 
by  all  the  other  Yellowhammers,  who  solemnly  arrayed 
themselves  for  the  occasion  in  velvet  coats  with 
yellow  satin  facings  and  wore  the  club  sash,  garter- 
wise  across  their  dress  shirts. 

The  dinner  to-night  was  held  in  Lord  Pimlico's 
rooms  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  Court.  They  were 
large,  handsome  rooms,  probably  two  sets  knocked 
into  one — for  there  is  plenty  of  space  in  Magdalene — 
furnished  absolutely  without  taste,  but  with  a  large 
amount  of  comfort. 

The  walls  were  tapestried  with  some  dull  red  cloth 
and  adorned  with  a  few  sporting  pictures,  Hogarth's 
"  Rake's  Progress  "  in  quaint  black  and  gold  frames, 
a  somewhat  indecent  old  print  of  Venus  and  Adonis 
(Shakespeare's  rendering),  a  fox's  mask  or  two,  and 
divers  bloodthirsty-looking  weapons,  presumably  im- 
ported from  the  South  Sea  Islands.  There  were  por- 
tieres over  all  the  doors,  Smyrna  carpets  on  the  floor, 
and  a  number  of  very  comfortable  chairs. 

Pimlico  received  his  guests  with  boisterous  hilarity, 
looking  much  the  same  as  when  we  last  saw  him  at 
Harrow,  only  he  had  broadened  somewhat,  his  jowl 
was  a  little  heavier,  and  his  pimples  had  disappeared. 
He  was  an  important  personage  at  Cambridge,  Master 
of  the  Drag  Hunt,  President  of  the  "  True  Blues  "  and 
many  other  things  beside. 

The  dinner  was  admirably  cooked  and  admirably 
served.  It  would  have  passed  muster  at  the  Amphy- 
trion.  We  mention  this  in  passing,  as  certain  lady 
novelists  and  others,  with  the  assurance  born  of  igno- 
rance, have  given  to  the  world  what  they  conceive  to  be 
orthodox  pictures  of  undergraduate  festivities — "  cold 
suppers  and  cider  cup,"  and  heavy  breakfasts,  where 
the  heroes  of  Ouida's  "  flashing  oar,"  for  instance,  de- 
vour huge  masses  of  semi-raw  beef-steak. 

There  was  nothing  of  this  barbarism  visible  to-night. 
The  wines  and  dishes  alike  were  excellent.  The  table 
was  graced  with  some  fine  old  College  silver  and 
elaborately  decorated  with  flowers — chrysanthemums, 


CAMBRIDGE.  43 

gold  and  brown,  fringed  with  dark  leaves  and  sprays 
of  maidenhair  fern,  a  blending  of  the  club  colors 
which  had  taxed  the  resources  of  that  fair  florist  Clara 
Wren,  who  had  come  round  from  Rose  Crescent  to  ar- 
range them.  The  name-cards  and  menus  from  Redin's 
were  quite  works  of  art  in  their  way,  with  the  device 
of  the  club  in  gold  relief,  the  whole  being  daintily  tied 
together  with  a  knot  of  brown  and  gold  ribbon.  The 
light  of  the  wax  candles  was  tempered  by  pale  yellow 
shades. 

The  guests,  like  the  wines,  were  of  the  choicest 
brand.  They  were  all  undergraduates- — with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  genial  little  sporting  doctor  well  known 
in  Cambridge  and  the  County  as  secretary  of  the  Hunt, 
and  a  young  Squire,  named  Spofforth,  who  had  gone 
down  a  year  of  two  before,  and  who  had  driven  in 
from  Fulbourn  for  the  occasion. 

The  dinner  opened  merrily  and,  as  the  wine  went 
round,  the  tongues  wagged  faster. 

"  What  are  you  doing  on  Tuesday,  Coryton  ?  "  asked 
"  Dolly  "  Forbes.  "  Come  and  have  a  little  dinner  with 
me — some  other  fellows  are  coming,  and  then  we'll  go 
and  see  Sally  Popkins  in  My  Sweetheart.  I  have  taken 
a  row  of  stalls.  She  can't  sing  a  bit  of  course,  but  she's 
got  a  rippin'  figure." 

"  Can't,  old  chap,  I'm  very  sorry.  I  have  to  oppose 
a  resolution  at  the  Union." 

"  The  Union !  what  is  that  ?  Are  you  on  the  Board 
of  Guardians?"  broke  in  Pimlico. 

"  It  is  a  brick  building  somewhere  between  here  and 
Sidney,"  explained  Forbes,  with  an  elaborate  affecta- 
tion of  ignorance,  "  isn't  it,  Coryton? " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  impassively,  "  it  is.  I  suppose  you 
go  to  Sidney  for  your  dinners,  Pirn,  like  every  one 
else;  these  are  capital  quail,"  he  went  on,  helping  him- 
self as  he  spoke — "  it  is  only  Barber  who  knows  how  to 
do  cailles  bardees  to  a  turn." 

"  But  about  this  Union,  Corry,"  persisted  Forbes, 
"  surely  you  can  chuck  it  for  once.  It's  Sally's  last 
night,  you  know." 

"  Can't,  old  chap,  awfully  sorry — they'd  never  for- 
give me  and  I'm  putting  up  for  the  Committee  next 


44  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEEE. 

term.  By  the  way,  Pirn,  I  shall  have  to  instruct  you 
where  the  Union  is — you're  a  member,  you  know." 

"  Am  I  ?  Oh !  yes,  I  believe  I  am.  My  guv'nor  made 
me  pay  seven  guineas  to  the  place  when  I  first  came 
up,  so  that  I  might  learn  to  speak  there.  '  Excellent 
practice  for  a  public  man,'  he  said.  But  what  the 
devil  do  you  want  me  to  go  there  for?  " 

"  To  put  me  up  for  the  Committee ; — you  needn't 
look  so  blank — it's  only  to  write  my  name  in  a  book. 
I'll  show  you  what  to  do." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  I  never  go  there — won't 
Tyrconnel  do  as  well  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  laughed  Coryton,  "not  nearly  as  well. 
He  is  not  the  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Southwark,  you 
know.  You  see  I  know  my  constituents.  They  are 
very  democratic,  but  they  '  love  a  lord.'  You  remember 
that  little  German  Baron — half  English — who  keeps 
on  Gaverigan's  staircase  in  the  New  Court." 

"  Von  Raggedback  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Von  Raggedback.  He  will  be  president  next 
term — at  least  he  is  going  to  put  up  for  it.  For 
ages  he  was  proposed  for  Committee  as  Franz  von 
Raggedback  and  he  never  got  in ;  then  some  one 
remembered  and  wrote  down  his  trumpery  title  and 
he  headed  the  poll." 

"What  a  lot  of  snobs,"  exclaimed  Forbes  with 
indolent  disgust.  "  I  wonder  you  trouble  about  them." 

"  We're  all  snobs  more  or  less,"  replied  Coryton 
blandly,  "it  is  only  a  question  of  degree.  That  is 
why  all  the  bounders  in  Cambridge  wear  the  terra- 
cotta ties  and  cloth  caps  you  started  last  term,  Dolly,— 
it  is  only  another  variety  of  the  same  snobbery — and 
why  Loucher  swaggers  about  in  riding-breeches  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  though  he  rides  like  a  tailor 
— one  would  think  he  slept  in  them.  But  tell  me,  is 
it  true  that  you  are  going  to  play  Prince  Hal  at  the 
A.  D.  C.?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,  I  believe  so  "  (it  was  a  peculiarity 
of  this  youth,  that  he  was  never  sure  of  anything). 

"  Hullo,  Pigeon,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Tyrconnel, 
who  sat  the  other  side  of  him,  "  what  are  you  and 
the  doctor  looking  so  glum  about?" 


CAMBRIDGE.  45 

"  The  doctor's  just  been  telling  me  about  that  chap 
who  was  thrown  out  hunting  the  other  day — came  a 
cropper  at  that  ugly  bullfinch,  you  remember — he's 
killed." 

"  Kicked,  has  he  ?  Why,  he  didn't  seem  to  be 
much  the  worse  for  his  spill  at  the  time.  Did  you 
attend  him,  doctor  ?  " 

"Idid." 

"  Oh !  then,  that  accounts  for  it." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  in  which  the  doctor  joined. 

"Doctor,  you  really  ought  to  become  a  polygamist 
instead  of  remaining  a  gay  bachelor." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  the  man  of  few  words,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  You  have  helped  so  many  people  out  of  the  world, 
it  would  only  be  fair  that  you  should  be  made  to 
repopulate  it  a  little." 

"My  good  fellow,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  mock 
indignation,  "  you  would  put  a  premium  on  vice." 

«  Vice— what  is  that  ?  " 

The  doctor  held  his  glass  critically  up  to  the  light 
before  replying. 

"  Oh — er — the  opposite  of  virtue  I  presume." 

"And  virtue?" 

"  Virtue,"  put  in  Coryton,  looking  down  at  his 
buttonhole,  a  yellow  carnation  and  a  copper  beech 
leaf — "  virtue  is  a  struggle  against  the  promptings 
of  nature — -vice  therefore,  I  take  it,  means  simply 
that  one  yields  to  them." 

"  I  know  a  much  better  definition  of  vice  than  that," 
cried  Pimlico,  who  was  now  slightly  "  on,"  but  he  was 
shouted  down  and  his  ribaldry  became  the  signal  for  a 
general  scrimmage.  The  doctor  hurled  the  inside  of  a 
roll  from  the  other  end  of  the  table  and  caught  Pimlico 
full  in  the  open  mouth,  just  as  he  was  leaning  back, 
pealing  with  laughter. 

"  You're  getting  much  too  smart,  Pigeon ! "  said  a 
little,  round,  dark  man,  named  Mauresk,  mischievously, 
as  Pimlico  looked  round  for  his  assailant. 

"Oh!  it  was  you,  was  it?"  Pimlico  exclaimed, 
pelting  Tyrconnel  first  with  the  flowers  and  then  with 
over-ripe  pears. 


46  THE  GEEEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

A  wild  tussle  was  meanwhile  in  progress  between 
Spofforth  and  the  doctor,  who  had  caught  him  drinking 
up  his  wine  whenever  his  back  was  turned.  Williams 
and  Wilmot  were  holding  Forbes  down  on  a  couch 
and  powdering  his  head  with  sifted  sugar. 

Coryton,  who  didn't  care  for  scrimmages,  presently 
suggested  roulette,  but  Gaverigan  protested  that  the 
toast-list  must  come  first. 

"  The  toast-list  to-night  is  rather  an  original  idea 
of  my  own,"  he  said  demurely  during  a  pause  in  the 
hubbub. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  let's  have  the  toasts,"  exclaimed  every  one, 
"  and  then  we'll  wind  up  with  a  gamble." 

Pimlico  had  intended  to  have  the  ordinary  stereo- 
typed toast-list,—"  The  Queen,"  "  The  Guests,"  "  The 
corps-de-ballet,"  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but  Gaverigan, 
whom  he  had  called  in  to  surpervise  the  spelling,  had 
suggested  that  every  one  should  propose  a  toast  "  out 
of  his  head,"  and  so  everybody  had  come  brimful  with 
"  prepared  impromptus." 

"  Gaverigan,  as  you're  the  originator  of  this  notion, 
you'd  best  lead  off,"  said  Pimlico,  arranging  himself 
once  more  in  his  seat  at  the  top  of  the  table,  and  plant- 
ing his  puffy  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Gaverigan,  rising  indolently, 
"  my  toast  is  '  Change,' — there's  nothing  so  jolly  as 
Change." 

"  I  prefer  fives  myself,"  whispered  Williams  to  Wil- 
mot, but  everybody  cheered  and  emptied  his  glass, 
while  Pimlico,  who  thought  he  had  now  discovered  his 
former  assailant,  rained  sponge-cakes  in  quick  succes- 
sion across  the  table  at  the  doctor. 

When  Coryton  got  up,  there  was  a  lull  in  the  battle. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  to  propose  to  you  a 
toast,  which  I  am  sure  you  will  all  of  you  be  delighted 
to  honor.  It  is  that  of  the  very  best  friends  we  have, 
our  only  sympathizers  in  adversity,  our  safest  advisers 
in  perplexity,  our  surest  pilots  to  success,  our  kindest 
masters  and  most  faithful  slaves,  the  only  true  gods  : — 
Our  Jolly  Good  Selves  !  " 

"  Bumpers  then  !  "  cried  Spofforth  and  Pimlico  in  a 
breath. 


CAMBRIDGE.  47 

"  No  heel-taps,  Pigeon  !  " 

"  Good  old  Corry  !  " 

"  Long  live  the  future  Vice-President  of  the  Union !  " 

Rarely  had  such  enthusiasm  reigned,  even  at  a  dinner 
of  the  Yellowhammers. 

When  Gaverigan  finished  drinking,  he  crashed  his 
glass  upon  the  floor,  exclaiming,  "  After  such  a  toast, 
this  glass  must  never  be  put  to  vulgar  use  again." 
Everybody  followed  suit  and  Pimlico  gave  a  drunken 
variation  of  the  view-halloo. 

"  Now  then  a  political  toast,"  exclaimed  Forbes  as 
Mauresk  rose  to  take  his  turn. 

"  Very  well,  gentlemen,  I  give  you  the  toast  of  '  The 
Unemployed.' " 

A  murmur  went  round  the  room. 

"  None  of  your  Radicalism  here,"  growled  Pimlico, 
who  had  now  reached  the  aggressive  stage. 

"  The  Unemployed,"  Mauresk  resumed  impassively, 
"  and  long  may  they  remain  so !  " 

There  was  a  roar  of  delight. 

"  And  I  beg  to  couple  the  doctor's  name  with  that 
toast,"  added  Spofforth  slily. 

"  Your  turn,  Pigeon,  and  be  sharp  about  it." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Pigeon  impressively,  "my  toast 
is  that  of  '  The  British  Conshtitoosh'n.' " 

"Good  old  Conshtitoosh'n!  Hi-tiddly-hi-ti-hi !  Hark 
For'ard,  Pigeon  !  "  yelled  the  interrupters,  "  Whoo-oo- 
oop ! " 

"  The  Brit'sh  Consht'toosh'n,  genelum,"  he  went  on 
impassively,  "  is  like  a  bird — ,"  but  he  was  not  allowed 
to  go  on  further  and  had  to  fight  for  his  life  with  Forbes, 
to  escape  being  hustled  ignominiously  under  the  table. 

"That  never  struck  me  before,"  said  Coryton  to 
Mauresk,  "  the  British  Constitution  is  very  like  Pigeon. 
It  means  well,  but  only  succeeds  in  making  itself  vastly 
ridiculous." 

"  You  do  it,"  Williams  murmured  to  Wilmot,  as  the 
battle  of  flowers  was  languishing  for  lack  of  chrysan- 
themums. 

"  No,  you  do  it,"  said  Wilmot  to  Williams. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  latter.  "  Gentlemen,  I  give  you 
an  old  toast  over  again.  I  give  you  the  toast  of 


48  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

'Change' — a  jolly  quick  change  into  the  next  room  for 
roulette.  It's  past  eleven  and  we  can't  stay  here  much 
after  twelve,  after  all  these  rows  we've  been  let  in  for 
lately." 

When  either  Williams  or  Wilmot  said  "  we  "  they 
always  meant  themselves  and  no  one  else. 

"  Rot ! "  interjected  Pimlico,  who  was  in  his  own 
college  and  had  no  rules  about  gates  to  fear.  "We'll 
make  a  night  of  it.  Come  along.  Who's  going  to  take 
the  bank?" 

And  he  led  the  way  into  the  next  room,  where  a  full- 
size  roulette-board  was  waiting  invitingly  upon  a  long 
table  of  green  cloth. 

Coryton  arranged  that  he  and  Pimlico  should  go 
shares  in  the  bank,  Pimlico  spinning  and  himself  doing 
the  paying  out  and  raking  in.  With  the  rules  in  vogue 
at  Cambridge,  to  be  banker  was  usually  a  profitable 
matter,  for  the  maximum  was  not  made  sufficiently 
larger  than  the  minimum  to  admit  of  doubling  up  or 
any  sort  of  systematic  play.  Moreover  Pimlico's  rou- 
lette was  of  the  old  Ilomburg  pattern  with  two  zeros, 
and  he  had  made  a  rule  that,  whenever  zero  came,  the 
banker  cleared  the  board,  instead  of  only  taking  half 
as  at  Monte  Carlo. 

Liqueurs  were  handed  round  and  the  game  was  soon 
soberly  in  progress.  Pimlico,  with  a  big  cigar  between 
his  teeth,  whirled  the  ball  with  a  dignity  begotten  of 
many  drinks ;  Tyrconnel  scattered  coins  all  over  the 
numbers  with  a  recklessness  unusual  even  for  him; 
Williams  and  Wilmot  were  trying  a  little  system  of 
their  joint  invention  upon  the  dozens  and  columns ; 
Mauresk  stood  about  smoking  interminable  cigarettes 
and  staking  half-sovereigns  a  cheval  on  the  two  zeros 
every  time ;  Gaverigan  was  winning  steadily  over  a 
long  intermittence  on  Passe  and  Manque  and  grum- 
bling loudly  that  the  lowness  of  the  maximum  interfered 
with  his  operations. 

"  All  right,  we'll  make  it  a  tenner  limit,  eh,  Coryton  ?  " 

"  If  we  do,  we  must  raise  the  minimum  to  ten  bob," 
returned  that  astute  youth. 

Williams  and  Wilmot  raised  a  shrill  protest,  but  the 
rest  were  inclined  to  acquiesce.  Coryton,  however,  cut 


CAMBRIDGE.  49 

the  discussion  short  by  looking  at  his  watch  and  an- 
nouncing laconically,  "  Half-past  twelve !  I'm  off." 

This  aroused  Pimlico's  indignation  and  he  began 
singing,  "  We  won't  go  home  till  morning,"  in  an  ag- 
gressive tone.  But  Coryton  lost  no  time  in  dividing 
the  proceeds  of  the  bank  (£35.15.0.  clear  profit  for  each) 
and  Forbes  and  Mauresk  gathered  up  their  caps  and 
gowns  to  join  him  in  his  departure. 

The  rest  determined  to  stay  on,  Gaverigan  and  Tyr- 
connel  because  it  amused  them,  and  the  rest  because 
they  had  lost. 

"  I'm  going  to  punt  now,"  said  Pimlico.  "  Who'll 
take  the  bank  ?  You,  Pigeon  ?  All  right !  Come  on." 

Tyrconnel's  bank  was  not  so  successful  as  the  pre- 
vious one.  Williams  and  Wilmot  got  into  the  habit  of 
announcing  their  stakes  instead  of  placing  them  on  the 
table  and,  at  this  stage  of  the  night,  their  memories 
were  often  treacherous  when  they  lost.  Pimlico  had 
obtained  a  raise  of  the  limit  to  £20  and  was  staking 
that  sum  on  each  of  the  even  chances  every  time. 

When  two  o'clock  struck,  the  banker  had  lost  all  his 
winnings  and  a  good  deal  more  besides.  Williams  and 
Wilmot,  who  had  now  retrieved  their  losses,  expressed 
great  horror  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  there 
was  a  general  scurry  to  get  home.  Pimlico,  Spofforth, 
and  the  doctor  decided  to  stay  and  have  a  quiet  game 
of  poker — "to  steady  their  nerves,"  as  the  doctor 
phrased  it. 

Gaverigan,  Tyrconnel,  Williams  and  Wilmot  parted 
from  the  rest  outside  the  college  and  made  their  way 
to  Trinity,  bemoaning  the  ticklish  interview  with  the 
Dean,  which  this  escapade  would  involve,  and  it  was 
in  a  very  subdued  mood  that  they  huddled  together 
outside  the  great  gate  of  Trinity,  and  pulled  the  por- 
ter's bell. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Williams  and  Wilmot 
simultaneously. 

"  We  can  all  get  in  through  one  of  our  windows  at 
the  Bishop's  Hostel.  Run,  you  fellows,  I  can  hear 
Hoppett  coming  to  open  the  gate." 

The  two  inseparables  were  round  the  corner  in  a  trice. 

"I  shall  stay  here,"  said  Tyrconnel.  "The  porter 
4 


50  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TEEE. 

might  bo  suspicious  if  he  opened  the  door  and  found 
no  one  here." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  can  climb  those  windows,"  said 
Gaverigan,  hesitating.  "  However,  I  don't  see  why  I 
shouldn't  try,"  he  added,  suddenly  making  up  his  mind, 
as  the  noise  of  withdrawing  bolts  awoke  him  to  a  sense 
of  the  situation. 

The  porter  was  very  sleepy,  or  he  must  have  noticed 
the  nutter  of  Gaverigan's  gown,  still  well  in  sight 
when  he  opened  the  door.  "  Mr.  Tyrconnel  again !  " 
he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  scrutinized  the  sole  re- 
maining undergraduate,  "  when  all  but  he  had  fled." 

When  Gaverigan  reached  the  outside  of  the  hostel, 
Williams  had  already  climbed  in  by  the  window  and 
Wilmot  had  got  one  leg  in.  The  sight  of  the  wall, 
over  eight  feet  before  the  bottom  of  the  window  was 
reached,  and  the  great  iron  bars  above,  appalled  Gave- 
rigan, who,  like  the  Right  lion.  Joseph  Chamberlain, 
made  it  his  boast  that  he  never  took  exercise. 

There  were  two  ways  in.  One  was  by  squeezing 
round  the  side  of  the  bars  and  was  only  practicable  for 
a  very  slim  person;  the  other  was  through  a  window 
two  feet  square,  which  only  began  when  the  bars  ended, 
some  fourteen  feet  from  the  ground. 

Wilmot  was  forcing  his  way  through  the  bars,  and 
for  some  minutes  it  really  seemed  as  if  he  would  stick 
there.  At  last,  by  a  superhuman  effort,  he  wrenched 
himself  through  and  sprawled  into  his  bedroom  head 
over  heels. 

Now  it  was  Gaverigan's  turn,  and  Williams  peered 
through  the  window,  telling  him  again  and  again  how 
easy  it  was.  And  indeed  he  found  it  much  easier  than 
he  had  expected.  He  flung  his  cap  and  gown  in  first, 
got  his  feet  on  a  convenient  ledge  near  the  ground, 
seized  hold  of  the  bars  and  found  a  drain  pipe  running 
down  vertically,  which  helped  him  up  to  the  window- 
ledge. 

"  Why,  it's  as  easy  as  walking  upstairs,"  exclaimed 
Williams  triumphantly. 

Then  came  the  climb  to  the  upper  window,  for  after 
Wilmot's  difficulties,  Gaverigan  hesitated  to  trust  him- 
self to  the  bars. 


CAMBRIDGE.  51 

He  felt  that  he  was  in  a  very  disagreeable  position, 
and  thought  of  the  possibilities  of  a  fall,  how  the 
back  of  his  head  would  cr-rash  upon  the  pavement, 
how  nicely  a  proctor  would  catch  him  if  he  chanced 
to  come  that  way,  and  of  a  hundred  alarming  con- 
tingencies. 

lie  heard  a  measured  tread  in  the  next  street. 
"  Quick,"  whispered  Williams. 

He  nerved  himself  for  a  desperate  effort,  swarmed 
up  the  bars,  got  one  leg  through  the  top  window  and 
breathed  again  as  he  looked  down  into  Wilmot's  com- 
fortable bedroom.  Then  the  helping  hands  of  his 
friends  dragged  him  through  and  he  was  safe. 

The  little  window  had  been  smashed  into  smithers 
by  his  boot  in  the  process,  but  that  did  not  matter ; 
for  a  very  disagreeable  encounter  with  the  authorities 
had  been  providentially  avoided. 

"  We'll  have  a  bottle  of  flz  to  celebrate  the  event," 
said  Wilmot,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  All  right !  And  I'll  go  and  get  the  Pigeon,"  put 
in  Williams.  "  What  a  fool  he  was  not  to  come  round 
too." 

"  Poor  old  Pigeon !  "  said  Wilmot,  "  he'll  get  it 
pretty  hot  from  the  Dean.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
got  sent  down." 

"He  always  does  get  it  hot,  somehow  or  other," 
remarked  Gaverigan,  yawning.  "He's  too  good  for 
this  world,  bless  his  old  soul !  " 


52  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE, 


CHAPTER  V. 

GWENDOLEN. 

As  a  crown  she  had  the  heavens,  where  the  angels  dwell  ;  her 
eyes  were  the  white  lotus-flowers,  which  open  to  the  rising  moon; 
and  her  voice  was,  as  it  were,  the  humming  of  the  bees. — DHAM- 
MA-CAKKA-PPAKATTANA  SUTTA. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Coryton— we  have  heard  of 
you  often  through  Mr.  Tyrconnel.  I  don't  know 
how  it  is  that  we  have  not  made  your  acquaintance 
before." 

And  Gwendolen  Haviland  held  out  her  hand  with  a 
bright  smile  of  friendly  welcome. 

Coryton  bowed  low  over  the  extended  hand,  white, 
soft,  and  slim  as  a  woman's  hand  should  be,  with 
delightful  little  dimples  here  and  there  and  pink- 
tipped,  filbert-shaped  nails. 

"Mine  has  been  the  loss,"  he  murmured.  Then 
suddenly  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  with  bold 
admiration  on  the  girl's  fair  face,  "  how  great  the  loss 
I  never  knew  till  now." 

There  was  something  in  his  look,  something  in  his 
manner, — she  hardly  knew  what,  perhaps  it  was  the 
bald  compliment — which  jarred  upon  Gwendolen.  Be- 
fore it  her  straightforward  purity  instinctively  recoiled. 
Yet  she  was  prepared  to  like  Walpole  Coryton. 

"  Ah !  you  should  say  those  things  to  my  aunt,"  she 
laughed  with  the  same  apparent  friendliness,  no  trace 
of  what  she  felt  visible  in  her  manner,  "  she  appreciates 
them :  I  do  not." 

Then,  as  if  to  atone  for  the  ungraciousness  of  her 
words,  she  added  cordially,  "  but  now  that  you  have 
once  found  your  way  to  us,  I  hope  we  shall  see  you 
often.  You  dp  not  know  many  people  here,"  she 
went  on,  glancing  round  the  room — "  No !  Let  me  in- 


GWENDOLEN.  53 

troduce  you  to  Miss  Verity," — and  she  indicated 
a  damsel  with  red  hair,  a  sallow  complexion  and  limp, 
sage-green  gown,  who  was  sitting  on  an  adjacent  chair 
in  an  attitude  she  fondly  believed  to  be  early  Italian, 
but  which  suggested  a  spinal  curvature  instead. 

"  You  ought  to  get  on  well  together,"  Gwendolen 
added  mischievously.  "  You  are  very  clever,  Mr. 
Tyrconnel  is  always  telling  me,  and  she  is  very  clever 
too — took  a  first  class  in  all  three  parts  of  her  Little- 
Go." 

As  she  said  this  she  turned  aside  to  greet  some 
new-comers  leaving  Coryton  by  the  side  of  the  sage- 
green  maiden,  faintly  conscious  of  a  rebuff.  He 
disliked  rebuffs  and  thenceforward  he  felt  a  sort  of 
passive  dislike  to  Gwendolen  Haviland  too. 

Coryton  was  just  entering  upon  his  second  year  at 
Cambridge,  but  this  was  his  first  experience  of  the 
queer  nondescript  thing  known  as  Cambridge  Society, 
that  is,  such  society  as  the  wives,  daughters,  sisters, 
cousins  and  aunts  of  the  University  suffer  to  exist — 
intensely  respectable,  intensely  dull,  intensely  exclusive 
— exclusive  of  course  only  in  the  sense  that  between 
the  ' Gown '  and  the  'Town  '  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed. 

Of  one  phase  of  this  society  the  gathering  was 
fairly  typical.  The  long,  low  drawing-room  of  Pro- 
fessor Haviland's  pretty  house  on  the  Newnham  Backs 
was  almost  inconveniently  crowded  on  this  October 
afternoon.  It  was  the  first  of  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles' 
At-Homes,  which  she  held  on  every  alternate  Wednes- 
day during  full  term.  Here  Greek  met  Greek  and  the 
lion  lay  down  with  the  lamb ;  which,  shorn  of  hyper- 
bole, means  that  here  the  young  blood  among  the  Uni- 
versity dons — for  there  is  some  young  blood  even  in 
that  effete  body — met  on  neutral  ground  the  eligible 
undergraduates  who  came  hither  to  see  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles'  pretty  niece. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  was  a  sister  of  the  Professor. 
She  had  come  up  to  Cambridge  ten  years  before,  to 
take  charge  of  his  house  and  his  motherless  daughter. 
And,  having  come,  she  remained,  while  Gwendolen 
gradually  grew  up,  blossomed  into  lovely  womanhood, 
and  the  Professor  slowly  became  mustier  raid  more 


54  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

professorial.  But  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  did  not  change ; 
she  was  one  of  those  people  with  whom  time  seems 
to  stand  still.  The  bloom  on  her  cheeks  deepened  a 
little  perhaps — as  it  will  do,  for  the  rouge-pot,  like 
dram-drinking,  is  apt  to  grow  on  one — but  her  youth- 
ful figure  was  just  as  youthful  as  of  yore,  her  skittish 
laugh  just  as  skittish,  her  tripping  step  just  as  tripping. 
How  she  managed  it  was  a  mystery.  But  manage  it 
she  did. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  was  the  widow  of  a  Colonel 
in  the  Indian  Army,  who  had  gone  to  Paradise,  said 
the  profane,  because  he  knew  he  wouldn't  meet  his 
wife  there.  Any  way  he  had  gone,  and  his  widow 
was  left  lamenting — not  at  his  departure,  but  at  the 
fact  that  lie  had  left  her  nothing  but  a  small  pension 
to  live  upon.  However  it  was  no  use  indulging  in 
vain  lamentation.  She  came  home  and  established 
herself — for  her  means  would  allow  of  nothing  better 
— in  Kensington-beyond-Jordan, — a  terrible  locality 
without  the  pale  of  civilization,  where  one  has  to 
give  three  shillings  to  a  cabman  to  drive  one  to  an 
indigestible  dinner.  A  place  where  all  the  people  one 
meets — host  and  guests  alike— rejoice  in  double- 
barrelled  names,  which  mark  of  the  beast,  as  a  well- 
known  statesman  with  a  future  behind  him  (who  by 
the  way  rejoiced  in  one  himself)  once  remarked,  is  a 
synonym  for  mediocrity  and  dullness. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  had  a  double-barrelled  name, 
as  suited  the  genius  loci — possibly  too  she  was  mediocre, 
but  she  certainly  was  not  dull,  even  her  worst  enemies 
could  hardly  accuse  her  of  that.  She  silently  suffered 
many  things  in  her  dreary  suburb  until  the  welcome 
summons  came  from  Cambridge. 

She  suppressed  all  mention  of  Kensington-beyond- 
Jordan  and  gave  out  boldly  that  she  had  been  travel-  - 
ling  on  the  Continent.     Her  arrival  took  Cambridge 
society  by  storm. 

The  strait-laced  wives  and  daughters  of  the  Profes- 
sors, Tutors,  and  Heads  of  Houses  could  not  understand 
Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  at  all — and,  not  understanding 
her,  they  regarded  her  with  mingled  feelings  of  envy, 
curiosity,  dislike  and  suspicion.  But  they  could  not 


GWENDOLEN.  55 

ignore  her — the  sister  of  a  Regius  Professor!  Then 
too  she  possessed  a  very  aggressive  individuality  of  her 
own.  She  flaunted  her  tailor-made  garments,  her 
walking-stick,  her  gaiters  and  her  youthful  make-up  in 
their  solemn  drawing-rooms  .and  figuratively  snapped 
her  fingers  in  their  faces. 

"  Positively  gaiters,  my  dear,"  sighed  the  wife  of  the 
Dean  of  King's  to  the  wife  of  the  Tutor  of  Jesus'." 

"  And  then  her  low-cut  bodices,  positively  indecent, 
my  dear,"  said  the  wife  of  the  Senior  Proctor,  holding 
up  her  hands  in  pious  horror  to  the  wife  of  the  Esquire 
Bedell — "What  a  terrible  example  for  that  sweet 
girl ! " 

But  her  aunt's  eccentricities  did  not  seem  to  make 
any  difference  to  the  "  sweet  girl."  Gwendolen  Havi- 
land  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  beautiful  girl  in 
Cambridge,  and  her  beauty  was  heightened  by  her  ap- 
parent unconsciousness  of  the  fact.  She  was  not  really 
unconscious  of  it,  of  course— no  girl  can  remain  in  ig- 
norance of  what  her  glass  tells  her  every  time  she  looks 
into  it — but  apparently  she  was  so. 

She  had  an  oval  face,  with  a  coloring  like  a  wild- 
rose  bloom,  a  perfectly  chiselled  nose  and  a  mouth 
moulded  like  the  mouth  of  one  of  Carlo  Dolce's  Madon- 
nas. There  were  great  shadowy  depths  in  her  brown 
eyes,  and  her  hair,  springing  wavily  from  the  roots, 
was  coiled  in  a  loose  knot  low  on  the  nape  of  her  slender 
neck.  When  she  stood  by  the  side  of  the  crabbed  old 
Professor,  one  wondered  how  such  an  ill-favored  tree 
could  have  borne  so  fair  a  blossom.  But  Gwendolen 
had  inherited  her  beauty  from  her  mother,  and  with  it 
a  certain  religious  turn  of  mind.  She  looked  at  life 
and  its  duties  through  the  medium  of  a  highly  colored 
light,  and  that  she  did  so  was  certainly  not  due  to  any 
external  training — for  her  father  was  too  much  wrapped 
up  in  his  books  to  heed  her,  and  her  aunt's  school- 
ing— such  as  it  was — was  all  the  other  way.  Her 
ideas  on  many  things  were  intolerant  and  unformed ; 
her  horizon  was  a  narrow  one,  but  it  had  all  the  thor- 
oughness born  of  that  same-  narrowness.  With  her, 
things  were  either  right  or  wrong,  she  knew  no  middle 
distance,  and  though  this  division  is  apt  sometimes  to 


56  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

be  arbitrary  in  the  complex  circumstances  of  modern 
life,  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  greatly  simpli- 
fies matters  for  the  divider. 

Tyrconnel  had  known  her  since  his  first  year  at  Cam- 
bridge. He  had  seen  her  one  evening  in  the  chapel  at 
King's  whither  he  had  gone — as  freshmen  do  go  once 
in  a  way — to  listen  to  the  music.  She  was  standing  in 
one  of  the  massive  oaken  stalls  in  the  choir,  the  pale 
light  of  the  tapers  flickering  before  her,  the  dark  wood- 
work as  a  background,  the  billows  and  waves  of  mel- 
ody, as  the  choir  chanted  the  Magnificat,  rising  and 
falling  around  her. 

The  face  riveted  Tyrconnel's  attention.  It  seemed 
to  him  the  incarnation  of  "  whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of 
good  report." 

It  haunted  him. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  he  met  her  a  few  days 
after  at  an  evening  party,  given  by  his  Tutor's  wife 
— one  of  those  dismal  entertainments  known  as  "Per- 
pendiculars," where  well-meaning  dons  and  callow 
undergraduates  mutually  bore  one  another.  Mrs.  de 
Courcy  Miles'  quick  eyes  noticed  his  evident  admiration 
of  her  niece, — the  future  Lord  Baltinglass  of  Blarney 
was  not  to  be  neglected ;  she  bore  down  upon  him ; 
and  in  a  brief  time  Tyrconnel  became  a  constant  visitor 
at  the  pretty  house  on  the  Xewnham  Backs. 

Gwendolen  and  he  would  talk  over  many  things  in 
the  dimly -lighted,  flower-scented  drawing-room,  while 
Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  dozed  over  a  risky  French  novel, 
or  kept  discreetly  out  of  the  way.  They  became 
comrades  and  very  good  friends.  He  would  show  her 
MSS.  of  poems  and  dissertations  which  he  had 
written ;  for  Tyrconnel  had  a  literary  vein,  which  he 
had  never  shown  to  any  one  else,  and  she  would  give 
her  opinion  with  that  dogmatic  downrightness,  which 
encouraged  and  yet  dissatisfied  him. 

Gwendolen  appealed  to  all  the  better  impulses  of 
his  nature — she  was  his  good  genius,  so  to  speak — 
something  shrined  away  in  the  inner  sanctuary  of  his 
heart  too  sacred  for  common  mention.  It  was  this 
feeling  which  made  him  hesitate  a  good  deal  before 


GWENDOLEN.  57 

introducing  Coryton  to  her,  though  he  often  spoke  of 
him.  In  point  of  fact  he  never  introduced  him.  It 
was  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  who  came  across  Coryton 
at  her  friend  Lady  Giddy's  house  near  Henley  during 
the  Long.  He  was  clever,  the  son  of  the  late  Judge- 
Advocate-General,  the  friend  of  Lord  Pirnlico,  that 
dear  Mr.  Tyrconnel  and  a  whole  host  of  eligible 
young  men.  Mr.  Tyrconnel  must  bring  him  to  call. 
So  he  brought  him  and  here  he  was. 

From  his  coign  of  vantage  by  the  Girtonian's  chair, 
Coryton  leisurely  surveyed  the  room.  He  knew  several 
of  the  men,  none  of  the  women.  And  there  were  a 
great  many  women  present,  mostly  Cambridge  pure 
and  simple,  but  not  a  few  from  the  county  around. 
Even  the  Duchess  of  Puffeballe  had  once  driven  over 
from  her  "place"  the  other  side  of  the  Gog- Magogs 
and  left  a  card.  It  henceforth  reposed  at  the  top  of 
Mrs.  Miles'  card-basket  forever. 

However  much  the  dons'  wives  might  abuse  Mrs.  de 
Courcy  Miles,  they  all  agreed  that  it  was  right  for 
them  to  go  to  her  parties. 

"  Somehow  or  other  she  gets  such  nice  men.  I  can't 
think  how  she  manages  it,"  said  the  wife  of  the  Vice- 
Chan  cell  or,  who  had  a  whole  tribe  of  unattractive 
daughters. 

Mrs.  Miles'  skill  in  this  respect  filled  with  impotent 
rage  and  envy  the  hearts  of  feminine  Cambridge.  But 
those  laugh  who  win,  and  Mrs.  Miles  did  not  mind. 
Their  spite  added  to  her  triumph. 

"I  know  they  hate  me,"  she  wrote  to  her  friend 
Lady  Giddy,  with  whom  she  had  scraped  an  acquaint- 
ance in  Simla  long  ago,  "  and  the  feeling  I  assure  you 
is  mutual.  Meanwhile  I  smile  and  eat  their  dinners, 
which  are  not  so  bad — in  fact  one  may  say  of  Cam- 
bridge that  the  dinners  are  good,  the  dons  dull,  but 
the  women — my  dear  Gerty,  the  women  are  awful! 
Xot  a  gown  but  what  might  have  come  out  of  Noah's 
Ark — and  ideas  to  match." 

The  would-be  aesthetic  Girtonian  was  a  little 
puzzled  all  this  time.  The  handsome  young  under- 
graduate, who  had  put  down  her  tea-cup  and  come 
solemnly  back  to  her  chair,  did  not  seem  inclined  for 


58  THE  GREEN  J5 AY  TREE. 

conversation.  Yet  she  was  not  of  a  retiring  disposi- 
tion ;  she  had  ventured  several  sallies,  but  somehow 
they  had  fallen  flat. 

"  I  think,"  she  began  again  tentatively,  "  I  have  seen 
you  at  Professor  Mealie's  lectures." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  Coryton  said,  stifling  a  yawn, 
"  I  remember  seeing  you  there."  He  hadn't  the  faintest 
remembrance  of  having  done  so,  but  that  didn't  matter. 
"  I  do  put  in  one  now  and  then.  You  were,"  he 
hazarded  a  guess,  "  at  the  last  one,  weren't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  she  rattled  on,  now  fairly  started — "  I  am 
always  there.  I  wouldn't  miss  one  for  worlds.  This 
course  about  Marlbo rough  is  quite  too  intensely 
absorbing.  The  Professor  throws  such  a  lurid  light 
on  the  fallacies  of  Macaulay,  does  not  he  ?  You  are 
going  in  for  the  History  Tripos,  like  myself,  I 
suppose." 

"  I  never  go  in  for  anything.  I  take  things  as  I 
find  them,"  he  said  half  absently. 

At  that  moment  a  burst  of  laughter  came  from 
the  opposite  corner  of  the  room  and,  turning,  he 
saw  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  in  the  centre  of  a  little 
group  smiling  towards  him.  He  answered  the  smile, 
and  catching  sight  of  the  Baron  von  Raggedback,  a 
Prussian  Peer  who  was  at  Trinity,  standing  by,  he 
took  him  forcibly  by  the  arm  and  introduced  him  to 
the  fair  Girtonian  before  he  knew  where  he  was. 

"  The  Baron  is  much  interested  in  the  History 
Tripos,"  he  said  with  a  charming  smile.  "  I  am  sure 
you  will  find  in  him  a  kindred  spirit." 

And  then  with  a  bow  he  went  off,  leaving  them 
together.  Coryton  was  never  rude  to  any  one,  whether 
he  could  get  anything  out  of  them  or  not.  But  there 
certainly  was  nothing  to  get  out  of  a  red-haired  young 
woman,  who  posed  like  a  bad  edition  of  Ellen  Terry 
and  who  prosed  about  her  tripos.  % 

"What  are  you  all  laughing  about  ?"  he  asked  of 
Mrs.  Miles. 

"  A  story  of  Mr.  Funnie-Ffoulkes,"  she  rejoined, 
beaming  on  the  little  cleric  who  was  holding  her  tea- 
cup. Funnie-Ffoulkes  was  by  way  of  being  a  wit. 
He  tried  to  model  himself  on  Capel  and  the  suave 


GWENDOLEN.  59 

monsignori  of  the  old  regime.  But  Cambridge  is  not 
Koine,  neither  was  the  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles  a  gilded  saloon  of  the  Borghesi.  Nor  was 
Funnie-Ffoulkes  a  monsignore.  Far  from  it.  He  was 
only  the  Dean  of  St.  Bridget's. 

"  Are  you  going  to  Lady  Catchbois's  dance  next  week, 
Mr.  Coryton?"  inquired  Mrs.  Miles,  changing  the 
conversation. 

"  I  do  not  know  Lady  Catchbois." 

"  Oh !  That  is  a  detail.  Mr.  Tyrconnel  is  going  and 
you  are  a  friend  of  Mr.  Tyrconnel.  I  will  ask  her 
to  send  you  a  card." 

"  As  a  friend  of  Mr.  Tyrconnel  ?  "  asked  Coryton,  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  curling  upwards  ever  so  slightly. 

"  No,  foolish  boy,  as  a  friend  of  mine  of  course." 

The  little  group  around  them  had  drifted  away. 
They  were  almost  alone,  but  not  sufficiently  alone  for 
the  lady's  purpose. 

"  Come,"  and  she  motioned  him  to  follow  her  into 
a  queer  little  recess  built  out  and  curtained  off  at  one 
end  of  the  room — in  reality  a  very  deep  bay-window. 
The  upper  lights  were  filled  with  stained  glass  and 
there  was  a  jardiniere  filled  with  crimson  tulips  and 
fragrant  lilies  of  the  valley. 

"  This  is  my  chapel,"  she  said,  "  at  least  I  call  it 
so,  a  holy  of  holies  which  only  my  especial  friends 
are  allowed  to  enter.  I  hope  you  appreciate  the  priv- 
ilege." 

"  I  should  be  base  indeed  if  I  did  not,"  he  answered, 
seating  himself  on  a  low  pouf  at  her  feet. 

Really  with  her  back  to  the  light,  her  "  bloom  de 
Ninon  "  and  her  youthful  figure  neatly  clad  in  a  soft 
mouse-colored  gown  trimmed  with  fur,  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles  might  have  passed  for  thirty-five.  She  didn't 
feel  a  day  older  just  nW  with  this  handsome  youth 
at  her  feet  looking  up  into  her  eyes. 

Coryton  possessed  that  caressing  manner  which 
women  love,  and  there  was  a  certain  sensuousness 
about  the  dark  beauty  of  his  face,  which  perhaps 
appealed  to  them  even  more  than  his  manner. 

Mrs.  Miles  had  something  to  say  to  him,  but  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  begin. 


60  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  So  you  will  come  to  Lady  Catchbois's,"  she  said 
again  by  way  of  opening  the  ball. 

"  I  thought  that  was  settled,"  he  replied  blandly. 
"  Your  wishes  are  my  commands.  I  shall  be  delighted, 
since  you  are  going.  I  should  not  care  to  go  if  you 
were  not." 

Mrs.  Miles  simpered. 

"  Flatterer  !  "  and  she  gave  him  a  tap  with  her  fan. 

"  One  never  natters  when  one  tells  the  truth." 

"  And  do  you  always  tell  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  always,"  he  answered,  meeting  her  gaze  with 
frank  candor,  "  unless  there  is  a  reason  for  doing 
otherwise.  It  is  so  much  simpler,  you  know." 

"  Quite  so,  but  the  reservation  is  important." 

"Ah  !  dear  Mrs.  Mallaby,  must  you  be  going  so 
soon  ?  "  This  to  the  Vice-Chancelloress,  who  with  two 
overgrown  daughters  had  just  come  up  to  say  good- 
bye. "On  Thursday  is  the  meeting,  is  it?  And  you 
have  secured  the  Bishop  for  the  address.  How  delight- 
ful— Oh  !  I  shall  be  quite  sure  to  be  there.  I  am 
lunching  at  Magdalene  Lodge,  but  I  will  come  on 
immediately  after.  Good-bye." 

"That  woman,"  she  said  with  a  glance  at  the  re- 
treating figure,  "  always  reminds  me  of  the  XXXIX 
Articles  incarnate.  Her  piety,  like  her  nose,  is  too 
aggressive.  And  yet  I  have  heard  it  whispered  that 
before  she  married  the  Vice-Chan cellor — no  one  quite 
knows  where  she  came  from,  you  know — she  had  a  vie 
orageuse.  And  now  she  is  so  devout,  would  you  believe 
it?" 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised.  Most  women  caress 
penitence  after  hugging  sin,"  said  her  companion 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Miles  lifted  her  eyebrows  with  a  little  jump. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  sentiment,"  she  cried. 
"  You  speak  quite  like  a  man  of  experience." 

"  Experience  !  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked  smilingly. 
"  The  name  women  give  their  intrigues,  is  it  not?" 

His  listener  lifted  her  shoulders  this  time  and  re- 
garded him  in  blank  amaze.  "  You  are  certainly  a  very 
unusual  undergraduate,"  she  said. 

Coryton  bent  his  sleek  head,  "  May  I  return  the  com- 


G  WENDOLEN.  61 

pliment  and  say  that  you  are  a  very  unusual  mistress 
of  a  professional  household  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Miles  laughed  by  way  of  reply.  She  did  not 
detect  the  covert  sneer,  but  she  began  to  think  that 
possibly  this  youth  might  not  be  quite  so  easily  moulded 
to  her  purpose  as  she  thought.  She  did  not  speak 
again  for  a  moment.  Her  eyes  wandered  absently 
across  the  room. 

Coryton  followed  her  glance  and  an  amused  smile 
flitted  over  his  lips  as  he  saw  where  it  rested.  Tyr- 
connel  and  Gwendolen  were  sitting  side  by  side.  She 
was  talking  to  him  earnestly — almost  fervently — and, 
as  he  was  listening,  his  face  turned  towards  hers  in 
the  soft-shaded  lamplight.  The  shade  was  not  so  great 
but  that  Coryton  could  see  on  his  face  a  look  he  had 
never  seen  there  before. 

Mrs.  Miles  turned  her  head  and  their  eyes  met. 

"  You  were  thinking —  "  she  began. 

"  Of  the  same  thing  as  yourself.  Great  minds  often 
run  in  the  same  direction." 

She  laughed  a  little  constrainedly. 

"  Mr.  Tyrconnel  is  often  here,"  she  said,  taking  up 
the  thread  of  her  thoughts ;  "  he  feels  quite  at  home 
with  us  now." 

"  So  it  appears,"  he  replied  drily. 

"  You  are,  he  tells  me,  his  greatest  friend.  Tell  me, 
do  you  think  ? — "  here  she  paused  and  looked  down. 

"  That  he  means  business,"  said  Coryton,  filling  up 
the  hiatus  in  his  most  insinuating  tones. 

Mrs.  Miles  shot  him  a  swift  glance  beneath  her 
lowered  lids,  and  put  her  fan  up  to  her  mouth. 

"You  are  very  frank,"  she  said — "brutally  so,  in 
fact." 

"We  live  in  a  brutal  age,"  he  answered  with  a 
charming  smile ;  "  did  I  not  say  I  always  told  the 
truth  ?  But  I  have  not  answered  your  question — oh ! 
yes,"  he  went  on,  with  playful  protest,  "  that  was  your 
question  surely.  Well,  since  you  ask  me,  I  think  he 
does." 

A  pleased  light  shone  in  his  companion's  eyes. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  he  says  so  little  about  her,  for  one  thing ; 


62  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

because  he  sees  so  much  of  her,  for  another.  Two  sure 
signs  of  a  woman's  influence." 

"  Well — well,"  said  Mrs.  Miles  with  a  pious  air,  "  I 
cannot  say  that  I  disapprove.  Pie  is  a  young  man  of 
very  high  principles." 

"  High  principles,"  echoed  Coryton  with  an  air  of 
candid  innocence.  "High  principles  are  synonymous 
with  high  teas,  cold  dinners  on  Sunday,  missionary 
meetings  and  such  like  middle-class  virtues,  are  they 
riot?  Well — "  he  pursued,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"  I  do  not  know  about  his  high  principles,  they  are  too 
abstract  for  me  to  deal  with,  but  without  doubt  he  is 
the  only  son  of  Lord  Baltinglass  of  Blarney  and  heir  to 
his  wealth.  Those  are  concrete  advantages  enough. 
But  these  little  affairs  are  not  all  on  one  side.  What 
does  Miss  Haviland  say  ?  " 

Mrs.  Miles  shook  her  head ;  it  suited  her  to  ignore 
the  earlier  part  of  Coryton's  remarks. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  she  said  presently.  "  Gwendolen  is 
not  an  ordinary  girl.  One  cannot  judge  her  by  ordinary 
rules.  You  see  I  am  a  mother  to  her  " — ("  Heavens !  " 
thought  Coryton,  "  what  a  mother !  ") — "  and  a  father 
also  one  might  say,  for  the  Professor,  though  great  on 
the  differential  calculus,  is  as  ignorant  as  a  child  in 
affairs  of  the  heart,  or  " — noticing  a  faint  smile  on  her 
companion's  face — "of  the  world.  One  must  leave 
things  to  take  their  course  and  hope  for  the  best.  One 

only  wishes  for  their  happiness I  am  so  glad  to 

have  had  the  opportunity  of  talking  with  you,  Mr. 
Coryton.  You  are  so  clever  and,  do  you  know  ? — I 
value  your  opinion  very  highly." 

Coryton  bowed  low. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  rising,  "I  really  must  look 
after  my  guests.  They  will  be  wondering  what  has 
become  of  me.  Don't  forget  about  Lady  Catchbois's 
party ;  and  will  you  come  and  dine  with  us  first  ?  Mr. 
Tyrconnel  is  coming  and  then  we  can  all  go  on  to  the 
dance  together." 

"  What  fools  women  are,  even  the  cleverest  of  them 
— in  fact  the  cleverer  they  are,  the  more  easy  they  are 
to  fool,"  thought  Coryton  as  he  murmured  his  thanks. 
"  Poes  this  old  woman  seriously  think  that  I  am  going 


GWENDOLEN.  63 

to  further  her  clumsy  game,  run  the  risk  of  angering 
Lord  Baltinglass  and  of  losing  my  useful  friend — for 
that  girl's  influence  would  be  the  death  of  mine — in 
return  for  a  few  twopenny-halfpenny  compliments,  a 
badly-cooked  dinner,  and  a  second-rate  dance  ?  Not  if 
I  know  it " 

"  Well,  Pigeon,"  he  said  later,  as  they  were  walking 
homeward  together  across  the  Backs,  "  you  seemed  to 
be  going  it  pretty  strong  this  afternoon.  You'd  better 
have  a  care  or  you'll  burn  your  fingers  before  you  know 
where  you  are  :  that  old  woman  wants  to  nab  the  future 
Lord  Baltinglass  of  Blarney  for  her  pretty  niece." 

Tyrconnel  laughed  uneasily  and  kicked  the  dead 
leaves  beneath  his  feet.  The  "  fire  of  the  autumn " 
had  pretty  well  burnt  itself  out  by  this  time,  the  leaves 
lay  in  a  golden  shower  beneath  the  great  elms,  whose 
branches,  bare  for  the  most  part,  stretched  weirdly 
athwart  the  leaden-hued  October  sky.  The  air  was 
laden  with  the  pungent  odor  of  rotting  leaves. 

"  You  mean  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  I  suppose  ?  "  he 
said  at  last. 

"  Oh !  is  that  her  name  ?  ',1  had  forgotten  it.  Don't 
go  too  far.  Remember,  what  would  Vixie  say  ?" 

A  red  flush  burnt  itself  on  Tyrconnel's  cheek,  hardly 
visible  to  his  companion  in  the  fading  light. 

"  I  don't  think  Vixie  would  mind,"  he  said  awkwardly, 
"  I  don't  think  she  cares — besides  Gwendolen  Haviland 
is  so  different  to  Vixie,  you  know." 

"  Quite  so,  like  a  cup  of  cold  water  a'fter  a  highly 
spiced  draught.  Cold  water  is  an  excellent  thing,  but 
it  is  apt  to  pall  on  the  palate  if  one  takes  too  much  of  it. 
By  the  way,  what  was  your  guardian  angel  talking  to 
you  about  so  earnestly  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  She  was  only  saying  what  she  has  often  said  be- 
fore, that  noblesse  oblif/e,  you  know, — that  life  is  full  of 
opportunities  for  good — that  one  ought  not  to  waste 
one's  energies  simply  on  selfish  pleasures  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing — and — by  Jove  !  Coryton,"  he  wound  up 
with  an  energetic  swish  of  his  stick  through  the  air, 
"  I  believe  she  is  right."* 

"  Perfectly  right,"  said  Coryton  calmly,  "  obviously 
right.  One  has  heard  something  very  like  it  all 


64  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

before,  but  that  does  not  matter ;  it  is  better  to  repeat 
old  things  well  than  to  invent  new  ones — and  much 
easier.  I  often  do  it  myself.  What  else  did  she 
say  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  answered  the  other  doggedly, 
"  you  do  not  understand — at  least  you  will  not.  You 
would  only  make  a  joke  of  it  all,  and  I — I  do  not  care 
to  joke  about  Gwendolen  Haviland.  She  looks  at 
things  in  a  very  different  light  to  you  and  me.  She  is 
a  religious  girl." 

Coryton  checked  the  laugh  which  rose  to  his  lips. 
It  was  as  well  his  friend  could  not  see  his  face.  They 
crossed  the  river  and  walked  on  a  little  way  in  silence. 

"  Religion  is  an  excellent  thing — in  woman,"  he  said 
meditatively,  "  all  women  should  have  a  devotional 
vein  running  through  them ;  it  is  such  a  comfort  to 
them,  and  it  helps  to  pass  the  time.  A  free-thinking 
woman  is  an  abomination,  she  jars  on  one's  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things.  Yes,  certainly,  all  women  should 
have  a  touch  of  religion." 

"  You  are  not  arguing  that  religion  is  only  meant  for 
women,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh !  certainly  not,  religion  is  very  useful  to  men, 
both  in  this  world  and  the  next.  It  is  a  very  powerful 
lever,  they  are  only  fools  who  ignore  it.  Never  say 
anything  against  religion,  my  dear  Pigeon,  if  you  wish 
to  prosper." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,"  said  his  friend,  laughing  in 
spite  of  himself.  "  You  upset  all  one's  preconceived 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  and  yet  somehow  one  be- 
lieves in  you  and  likes  you  all  the  time.  How  do  you 
manage  it,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"Possibly  because  I  always  say  what  is  passing 
in  my  mind  —  the  things  which  other  people  think. 
Frankness  consists  in  telling  the  truth — but  not  always 
the  whole  truth,"  he  added. 

But  his  companion  did  not  hear  the  reservation. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  half  as  bad  as  you  make 
yourself  out,"  he  said. 

"  The  devil  is  not  as  black  as  he  is  painted,"  quoted 
Coryton.  "But  then  he  doesn't  paint  himself." 

They  had  walked  up  Mill  Lane  and  were  on  the 


THE  APOSTLES.  65 

quaint  K.  P.  by  this  time.  The  square  old  Saxon 
tower  of  St.  Benet's  loomed  behind;  the  horizon  in 
front  was  blurred  by  the  hideous,  kotel-de-ville  fa9ade 
of  Caius.  The  lamps  were  lighted  and  the  shop  win- 
dows, full  of  gaudy  blazers,  groups  of  photographs  and 
pictures,  wore  a  festive  air. 

A  little  crowd — chiefly  women — was  emerging  from 
the  pinnacled  gateway  of  King's.  Evensong  in  the 
Chapel,  which  does  duty  at  Cambridge  for  a  Cathedral 
service,  was  just  over,  and  the  boom  of  the  great  organ 
could  be  heard  faintly  sounding  across  the  court. 
Coryton,  followed  by  Tyrconnel,  turned  into  Bessie 
Masterman's — "  the  freshman's  snare  " — and  bought 
some  cigars. 

"Well,  what  shall  we  do  to  kill  the  time?"  he 
queried  when  they  came  out  again— a  flirtation  with 
Bessie  had  long  ago  lost  its  charms  for  him — "you 
are  going  to  the  Caledonian  dinner  to-night,  aren't 
you  ?  Forbes  has  asked  me  too.  But  that's  not  till 
eight  o'clock.  Let  us  turn  into  Barrett's  and  have  a 
game  of  billiards." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  APOSTLES. 

Cherchons  done  a  voir  les  choses  comme  elles  sont,  et  n'ayons 
pas  plus  d' esprit  que  le  bon  Dieu. — FLAUBERT. 

THE  undergraduate  with  literary  aspirations  is  about 
as  precocious  and  insufferable  a  prig  as  may  be  found 
in  the  whole  republic  of  letters.  His  ideas  are 
suburban  rather  than  of  Grub  Street ;  his  idols  are 
underdone  poets  and  incomprehensible  essayists ;  his 
principles  are  the  give  and  take  of  inept  admiration ; 
the  goal  of  his  ambitions  is  to  take  a  high  degree,  go 
to  London  and  be  elected  a  member  of  the  Savile  Club. 

The  most  pretentious  coterie  for  such  young  men  at 
Cambridge  is  a  highly  exclusive  society  known  as  the 
Chit-Chat,  It  meets  once  a  week  in  the  rooms  of  all 


66  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

the  members  in  turn,  when  the  host  reads  a  dogmatic 
paper  on  a  subject  of  frivolous  solemnity  and  the  other 
members  discuss  it.  Punch  is  brewed,  dried  fruits 
are  consumed  and  the  club  snuff-box  is  handed  round. 
Every  member  is  bound  by  honor  and  tradition  to 
consider  all  the  other  members  '•'•frightfully  clever" 
and  to  speak  to  outsiders  with  bated  breath  of  his 
membership  us  the  greatest  honor  which  the  Univer- 
sity had  to  bestow. 

Stay,  there  is  a  greater  honor  yet,  but  it  is  too 
supreme  even  to  be  whispered  in  the  ears  of  the 
profane.  The  Chit-Chat  has  an  inner  circle,  consist- 
ing only  of  the  twelve  most  f riff httfutty  clever  men  in 
the  University.  They  modestly  style  themselves  "  The 
Apostles"  and  are  theoretically  only  known  to  each 
other  in  that  capacity,  though  they  usually  take  pre- 
cious good  care  that  the  secret  shall  be  only  a  secret 
of  Polichinelle. 

The  Chit-Chat  and  the  Apostles  have  been  in  exist- 
ence to  minister  to  the  vanity  of  at  least  three  or 
four  generations  of  undergraduates,  but  the  sluggish 
Cam  still  flows  on  unfired. 

"I  want  you  to  reserve  me  Sunday  evening,  dear 
boy,"  said  Coryton  to  Gaverigan  as  they  walked  home 
together  from  a  card-party  at  Williams'  and  Wilmot's 
rooms. 

"  By  all  means.  What  is  it  ?  Poker  in  your  rooms 
or  a  prayer-meeting  in  Victor  Sexton's,  O  thou  man  of 
many  wiles?" 

"No,  an  infinitely  funnier  study  in  human  nature 
than  either." 

"  Human  nature !  That  means  vice  or  something 
equally  humdrum,  doesn't  it  ?  To  my  mind  '  human 
nature '  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  Anything  nakedly 
natural  disgusts  me.  What  is  there  so  repulsive  as  a 
human  being,  who  seeks  to  be  natural  and  consequently 
only  succeeds  in  being  foolish  ?  " 

"  For  my  part,"  returned  Coryton,  smiling,  "  I  prefer 
natural  people.  One  knows  just  what  they  will  do 
under  given  circumstances  and  one  can  plan  accord- 
ingly. But  then  I  am  a  student  of  fools,  a  morologist 
— to  coin  a  word," 


THE  APOSTLES.  67 

"  You  are  quite  right  to  study  fools,  if  what  you 
labor  for  is  success.  For  my  part  I  don't  believe 
that  anything  is  worth  while.  There  is  no  heaven 
save  pleasure,  and  no  hell  save  satiety." 

"  But  all  pleasures  are  of  nature :  from  women  to 
'wittles.'  Success  is  my  greatest  pleasure,  and  that 
is  why  I  pursue  it." 

"  Philistine !  Success  is  the  triumph  of  art  over 
nature.  There  is  no  pleasure  in  anything  where  nature 
has  not  been  completely  overshrouded  by  art.  Natural 
food  means  bananas  or  raw  potatoes  washed  down  by 
rainwater.  It  is  to  art  that  we  owe  our  tournedos 
Rossini  and  Mouton  Rothschild  1874.  But  you  haven't 
told  me  what  you  propose  for  next  Sunday." 

"  I  want  you  to  come  to  a  meeting  of  the  Chit- 
Chat." 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  taking  you  there  ? " 

"  I  am  a  member." 

Gaverigan  looked  at  Coryton  with  a  curious  smile 
and  whistled  softly  to  himself. 

"  Whew  !  You  are  a  marvel !  Is  there  a  single  pie 
in  the  whole  'Varsity,  where  you  haven't  got  your 
thumb  ?  But  why  bother  your  head  about  such  small 
fry  ?  They  can  be  of  little  enough  use  here  and  none 
hereafter." 

"  Every  one  has  his  uses — down  to  the  President  of 
the  Catt's  Debating  Society.  But  will  you  come? 
They  want  to  elect  you  a  member,  but  you  needn't 
accept  unless  you  like." 

"  And  I  am  to  come  for  inspection,  as  Mauresk  did 
last  week.  All  right,  but  I  won't  promise  to  be  on  my 
good  behavior." 

"  No  one  would  ever  expect  that  of  you.  Mauresk 
made  a  very  good  story  out  of  his  inspection.  The 
show  isn't  quite  so  funny  as  all  that.  Still  it  may 
amuse  you,  and  I  know  you  only  live  to  be  amused." 

When  Sunday  came,  Gaverigan  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  Chit-Chat  and  was  lying  comfortably  at  full 
length  before  his  fire,  enjoying  his  greatest  pleasure  of 
doing  absolutely  nothing,  when  Coryton  burst  in  on 
him  like  an  avalanche. 

"  You  are  a  nice  chap !  "  he  exclaimed.    "  The  Chit- 


68  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Chat  has  been  waiting  for  you  half  an  hour — a  thing 
utterly  unheard  of  in  its  whole  history.  You  are 
really  too  provoking." 

"  My  good  chap,"  returned  Gaverigan,  scarcely  turn- 
ing at  his  entrance.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  burst  in 
like  the  north  wind.  You  have  chilled  me  to  the 
marrow.  I  vow  I  won't  stir  an  inch  until  you  have 
pledged  me  in  a  bumper  of  this  port.  It's  really  not 
bad — for  Cambridge." 

"  All  right,  but  for  Heaven's  sake  hurry  up  !  " 

"  Well,  where  are  we  to  go  ?  "  said  Gaverigan  gloom- 
ily ;  "  I  sincerely  wish  I  hadn't  said  I'd  come." 

"  It's  in  the  rooms  of  a  man  named  MacRonald,  in 
the  Old  Court.  He's  really  rather  a  clever  chap. 
Older  than  most  undergrads.  Come  up  from  Glasgow 
University  or  some  such  place.  Wears  a  truculent 
yellow  moustache.  Never  came  nearer  civilization 
than  Newcastle  before  his  matriculation  here,  and  yet 
has  passable  manners — outrageously  artificial  of  course, 
but  then  you  like  artificial  things." 

"  He's  '•frightfully  clever,'  I  suppose,  like  all  the  rest 
of  them  ?  " 

The  rooms  were  very  large,  like  all  those  in  the 
Old  Court  at  Trinity.  Oak  panelling  gave  them  a 
certain  air  of  solid  wealth,  which  was  not  borne  out 
by  the  sparse  and  rather  gimcrack  furniture,  evidently 
intended  for  an  aspiration  after  new-fangled  art  by 
one  who  did  not  quite  understand  it.  A  long  table 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  covered  with  coffee 
cups  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  patterns,  which  con- 
veyed the  impression  that  "  alas,  master,  they  were 
borrowed." 

MacRonald  came  up  smiling,  with  one  hand  grasping 
an  end  of  his  Randolphian  mustachio.  He  had  culti- 
vated very  carefully  the  appearance  of  being  entirely 
at  his  ease  on  all  occasions,  and  had  succeeded  in 
acquiring  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  superficial  observers. 
Coryton  used  to  say  that  his  manners  were  those  of 
a  man  who  is  always  in  expectation  of  being  kicked 
downstairs,  but  then  Coryton  was  a  keener  observer 
than  most  people. 

"  It  is  a  great  pleasure  and  honor  to  see  you  under 


THE  APOSTLES.  69 

my  poor  roof,"  MacRonald  said  to  Gaverigan  with 
what  he  fancied  was  old-fashioned  politeness ;  "  we  had 
half  begun  to  fear  we  were  forgotten." 

"  Forgotten  !  'Twere  impossible  to  forget  the  high 
honor  of  this  invitation.  I  fear  me  I  am  not  so 
punctual  as  is  my  wont,"  returned  Gaverigan,  imitat- 
ing MacRonald.  But  the  humor — as  usual — was  lost 
upon  the  Scotsman. 

"  I  found  him  sitting  over  the  fire  with  a  bottle  of 
port,"  put  in  Coryton  brutally. 

The  procedure  at  a  meeting  of  the  Chit-Chat  is  to 
devote  the  first  hour  to  conversation,  or  "  chit-chatting," 
— whatever  that  may  be — then  to  proceed  to  the  elec- 
tion of  new  members,  and  to  wind  up  with  a  paper  read 
by  the  host. 

MacRonald's  idea  of  entertaining  had  the  merit  of 
simplicity.  Directly  a  man  came  in,  he  would  take 
him  to  somebody,  introduce  them  and  plant  them  on  a 
sofa  or  two  chairs  close  together.  Before  ten  minutes 
were  up,  he  would  pounce  upon  the  man  again,  whisper 
in  his  ear  "  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  So  and  So,"  and 
carry  him  off  to  a  tete-a-tete  with  somebody  else. 
There  was  a  game  of  General  Post  going  on  all  the 
time,  and  MacRonald  certainly  showed  skill  in  never 
leaving  anybody  by  himself,  or  with  a  man  who  evi- 
dently bored  him.  At  a  pinch  he  would  even  go  further 
and  suggest  subjects  when  the  conversation  seemed  to 
be  flagging. 

MacRonald  first  introduced  Gaverigan  to  an  effem- 
inate young  man  named  Freeman.  His  father  was  a 
partner  in  a  well-known  firm  of  wholesale  haberdashers, 
and  had  thought  to  turn  his  son  into  a  gentleman  by 
sending  him  to  a  public  school  and  university.  The 
result  had  been  a  curious  hybrid,  in  which  the  shop- 
walker strain  struggled  with  the  veneer  of  gentility. 
Freeman  had  no  notion  how  to  talk  or  where  to  place 
his  hands  and  feet,  but  he  had  a  gushing,  almost  girl- 
ish disposition,  and  was  liked  by  people  when  they  got  to 
know  him.  He  was  good-looking,  almost  aristocratic- 
looking,  with  a  Roman  nose  and  slight,  well-curled 
moustache,  and  so  long  as  he  did  not  open  his  mouth, 
he  made  an  impression  on  a  stranger.  He  had  what 


70  THE  GREEN  BAY  TltEE. 

members  of  his  father's  firm  would  have  called  a  "  good 
address,"  which  was  only  rendered  tolerable  by  his  in- 
tuitive preference  for  the  eloquence  of  silence.  Like 
so  many  who  have  alloyed  a  pretentious  education  with 
middle-class  home-life,  he  had  no  sense  of  proportion, 
mistook  for  sentiment  what  was  only  mawkishness 
and  for  philanthropy  what  was  but  foolery.  He  was 
eaten  up  with  fads,  from  socialism  and  esoteric  Bud- 
dhism to  long  hair  and  vegetable  foods. 

Gaverigan  took  to  him  at  once.  The  great  quality 
to  him  in  an  acquaintance  was  that  he  should  be  a 
good  audience,  and  that  was  Freeman's  strong  point. 
Finding  that  he  had  a  faddist  to  deal  with,  Gaverigan 
poured  into  his  willing  ears  archaic  individualism  and 
epicurean  theories,  and  he  was  just  completing  the 
process  of  captivating  the  impressionable  youth  by 
avowing  a  belief  in  astrology,  when  MacRonald  came 
up  and  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  was  anxious  to 
introduce  him  to  Thomas  Llewelyn  Morgan.  This  was 
whispered  with  some  pomposity,  as  though  the  propo- 
sition wrere  an  unusually  advantageous  one. 

"  I  have  known  him  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,"  said 
Gaverigan,  following  his  host,  though  he  hated  Mor- 
gan, "  his  father  was  up  here  with  mine  once  upon  a 
time." 

Gaverigan  at  once  rose  several  feet  in  MacRonald's 
estimation,  for  Thomas  Llewelyn  Morgan  was  a  shin- 
ing light  in  this  coterie  and  was  even  whispered  to  be 
of  the  mysterious  inner  circle, — the  Apostles ! 

They  found  him  seated  on  a  window-seat,  discoursing 
atheism  to  a  select  circle  of  admirers.  "  The  Bible," 
he  was  saying,  "  is  not  only  a  mass  of  inconsistencies 
and  absurdities,  but  such  hopelessly  dull  reading,  such 
dismally  bad  literature." 

"There  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  a  man'  named 
Emery,  who  was  a  Positivist  by  creed  and  an  editor 
of  the  Cambridge  Jieview  by  profession,  and  therefore 
of  course  an  authoritjr  both  on  religion  and  literature. 
"  The  Bible  isn't  half  a  bad  book  if  one  can  once  get 
rid  of  his  prejudice  against  it.  People  who  have  had 
it  crammed  down  their  throats  during  childhood  can't 
be  expected  to  approach  it  impartially.  I  have  had  it 


THE  APOSTLES.  71 

bound  in  yellow  calf,  and  really,  when  I  come  to  peruse 
it  like  that,  I  find  it  far  better  reading  than  either  the 
Talmud  or  Omar  Kayam." 

"  What  title  did  you  put  on  the  cover  ?  "  asked  Mor- 
gan contemptuously.  "  Perhaps  if  you  spelt  Bible  with 
a  little  b,  it  might  serve." 

"  I  haven't  put  a  title  on  yet.  I  want  a  good  one,  if 
anybody  has  ideas." 

"  Of  course  we  all  have  ideas,"  said  a  man  called 
Belgium  indignantly,  and  he  scratched  a  red  shock 
head,  without  however  eliciting  any. 

"  Poems  and  Fables  of  the  Semites,"  suggested  Ga- 
verigan  in  a  still,  small  voice. 

A  delighted  shiver  passed  through  the  little  audience, 
and  MacRonald  rubbed  his  long  bony  hands  with  glee, 
as  he  trotted  off  to  arrange  further  introductions. 
Morgan  looked  sulky  at  being  eclipsed  on  his  own 
territory. 

Coryton  had  been  very  much  bored  meanwhile,  talk- 
ing to  one  of  the  most  precious  of  the  Apostles,  a  color- 
less young  man  named  W.  P.  Jones,  known  to  the  in- 
tellectual circles  of  Cambridge  as  "  W.  P.,"  and  whose 
"frightful  cleverness  "  consisted  merely  in  a  knack  of 
passing  examinations  in  Latin  and  Greek.  He  had  a 
thin,  husky  voice,  which  he  used  in  the  most  supercili- 
ous way,  as  if  it  were  amazing  condescension  to  con- 
sent to  speak  at  all.  He  was  insignificant-looking,  with 
a  pug  nose  and  mutton-chop  whiskers,  but  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  Chit-Chat  to  take  men  at  their  own  val- 
uation, and  his  was  an  unusually  high  one  even  for  these 
select  circles. 

Coryton  had  been  flattering  him  more  unblushingly 
even  than  his  wont,  and  was  beginning  to  wonder 
whether  there  was  anything  he  would  not  swallow. 
He  had  told  him  with  what  engrossing  interest  he  had 
read  his  article  on  Pindar  in  the  Cambridge  Review ; 
he  had  alluded  to  him  to  his  face  as  the  cleverest  man 
in  the  'Varsity ;  he  had  even  hinted  at  unparalleled 
personal  beauty,  and  suggested  the  Chit-Chat  paying  a 
first-class  artist  to  paint  his  portrait, — but  the  man  had 
accepted  it  all  as  gospel,  without  turning  a  hair. 

Coryton  was  beginning  to  admit  that  his  powers  of 


72  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

blarney  must  at  last  have  reached  their  limit,  when  a 
welcome  relief  was  afforded  by  MacRonald  taking  him 
away  for  introduction  to  Mr.  Scott,  whom.  Cory  ton  had 
heard  much  about,  but  somehow  had  not  yet  met. 

Mr.  Scott  gave  what  turned  out  to  be  somebody  else's 
lectures  in  English  literature  in  the  hall  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege some  half  a  dozen  times  a  term,  to  a  select  audi- 
ence of  Cambridge  Apostles  and  Xewnham  disciples. 
The  Chit-Chat  swore  by  him  and  probably  contributed 
to  his  vogue.  In  London,  despite  persistent  log-rolling 
in  the  Lickworm  Gazette,  he  was  only  known  as  the 
writer  of  washy  sonnets  of  doubtful  scansion  and  as 
the  editor  of  certain  English  classics,  which  required 
no  editing.  At  Cambridge  he  was  Sir  Oracle  to  a  great 
number  of  crude  young  men.  He  was  a  podgy  little 
person  with  glutinous  hands,  one  of  which  he  placed 
in  Coryton's  without  the  least  attempt  at  pressure. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  indeed  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance," he  said  in  an  oily  voice.  "I  think  I  have  seen 
you  sometimes  at  my  lectures." 

Coryton  took  the  cue  and  began  to  express  his  enjoy- 
ment of  them,  though  in  reality  he  had  never  been  there. 
"  I  was  especially  interested  in  what  you  said  about 
Milton,"  he  said,  "  though  I  confess  I  do  not  entirely 
share  your  admiration  of  him." 

Mr.  Scott's  face  gathered  into  a,  frown.  Then  he 
smiled  pityingly  and  said,  "  Let  me  hear  what  you  have 
to  say,"  in  the  tone  of  a  master  asking  a  lower  boy  to 
show  cause  why  he  shall  not  be  flogged. 

"  I  take  Voltaire's  view,"  said  Coryton  boldly,  for 
he  was  getting  tired  of  heaping  Pelion  on  Ossa  in  flat- 
tery of  tenth-rate  prigs ;  "  he  accused  Milton  of  ob- 
scurity, unnecessary  length  and  entire  absence  of  in- 
terest, and  he  pointed  out  that  he  was  despised  by  his 
contemporaries." 

Mr.  Scott  gasped  at  what  seemed  to  him  sheer  blas- 
phemy and  was  about  to  administer  a  reproof,  when  a 
movement  in  the  room  gave  warning  that  the  proceed- 
ings were  going  to  begin  and  every-one  settled  himself 
to  attention. 

"Our  first  business,"  said  Thomas  Llewelyn  Morgan, 
the  Secretary,  with  more  than  the  solemnity  of  a 


THE  APOSTLES.  73 

Cabinet  Minister,  "is  to  proceed  to  the  election  of 
new  members.  I  hope  it  is  understood  by  strangers 
present,"  ar&  here  he  looked  biliously  at  Gaverigan, 
"that  our  proceedings  are  strictly  private.  If  any 
stranger  does  not  consider  himself  bound  in  honor 
to  treat  them  as  such,  I  have  to  request  that  he  will 
withdraw." 

He  made  a  long,  awkward  pause  to  enable  Gaveri- 
gan to  do  so,  but  as  the  latter  made  no  move,  he 
proceeded  to  read  out  the  names  of  the  candidates 
proposed. 

MacRonald  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  whisper 
in  Gaverigan's  ear :  "  That  warning  is  on  account  of 
Mauresk.  He  behaved  in  a  most  ungentlemanly  way. 
Came  as  our  guest.  Accepted  our  hospitality.  And 
then  went  about  everywhere,  telling  the  most  extrava- 
gant tales  about  what  we  did." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  Mauresk  is  not  a  respecter  of  per- 
sons," laughed  Gaverigan. 

"  No,  but  one  imagined  he  was  a  gentleman,"  re- 
turned the  Scotsman  severely. 

"  Mr.  Mauresk  of  King's  College,"  Morgan  was  read- 
ing, "  proposed  by  Mr.  W.  P.  Jones  of  Trinity  College 
and  seconded  by  Mr.  Drake  of  King's,  has  been  with- 
drawn." 

The  announcement  was  greeted  with  ironical  cheers, 
in  which  Gaverigan  and  Coryton,  who  knew  that 
Mauresk  would  never  have  accepted  election  at  the 
hands  of  this  Society,  joined  heartily. 

"Mr.  Bertram  Paine  of  Trinity  College  is  proposed 
by  Mr.  MacRonald  of  Trinity  and  seconded  by  Mr. 
Edward  Freeman  of  the  same  college,"  pursued  the 
inexorable  Secretary. 

There  was  a  pause,  while  the  Chit-Chats  pondered 
among  themselves  who  should  cast  the  first  stone. 

"Is  he  frightfully  clever?"  asked  a  man  named 
Crust  presently,  sniffing  the  air. 

"  I  don't  think  he  scintillates  particularly,"  said  an 
overgrown  King's  man  named  Drake,  his  thick  lips 
quivering  nervously  as  he  tried  to  think  of  a  joke  and 
failed. 

"  He  wrote  some  frightfully  clever  articles  in  my 


74  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

paper,  the  May-Buy"  said  MacRonald  with  some 
humility,  "  and  really  he  did  coruscate  the  night  he 
came  on  approval." 

"  Heavens  !  "  whispered  Gaverigan  to  Coryton.  "  I 
trust  I  am  not  here  'on  approval.'  Are  they  all  watch- 
ing to  see  whether  I  '  scintillate'  or  '  coruscate'  ?  " 

"  No,  be  quiet.  You  are  watching  them  to  see  what 
funny  things  they  do.1' 

"And  he  isn't  going  in  for  the  classical  tripos," 
growled  The  MacSriorter  ;  "  T  don't  believe  any  one  can 
be  frightfully  clever  who  doesn't.  Paine  is  a  history- 
man,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Chortle,  "  a  man  whose  intellect  is 
nourished  on  history  only  is  like  a  boy  brought  up 
to  eat  nothing  but  bath-buns.  Both  necessarily  lack 
stamina." 

After  a  long  discussion  in  a  similar  strain,  it  was 
decided  to  defer  the  election  to  next  term,  and  Mac- 
Ronald  proceeded  to  read  his  paper.  It  was  not 
devoid  of  cleverness,  though  weighed  down  by  Scottish 
conceptions  of  humor.  It  was  entitled  "  The  Riddle 
of  Life "  and  consisted  of  emasculated  Rabelaisian 
language,  with  a  few  aphorisms  modelled  on  Voltaire 
peeping  out  every  now  and  then  like  truffles  in  pate  de 
foie  grus. 

The  aphorisms,  which  were  evidently  meant  to  be 
the  strong  point  of  the  paper,  were  of  the  kind  which 
prompts  men  to  exclaim  "  How  true ! "  rather  than 
."  How  strange  !  " 

"  When  a  woman  weeps,  she  is  about  to  deceive  / 
when  she  smiles  she  has  betrayed" 

"  Reputations — like  men — are  born  of  women,  and 
women  are  not  hard  to  deceive." 

"  When  you  say  '  Good-bye,  Colonel, '  in  America, 
every  man  within  hearing  distance  takes  off  Jiis  hat  ;  if 
you  exclaimed  '  Pretty  scamp  ! '  in  a  London  drawing- 
room,  every  icoma/i  would  curtsey" 

"An  amorous  man  is  amorous  to  his  friend 's  wife." 

"  Love  is  the  distemper  of  humans" 

"  The  man  who  has  a  beautiful  wife  never  lacks 
friends" 


THE  APOSTLES.  75 

"  A  philosopher  is  one  who  asks  other  people  questions 
to  the  end  that  he  may  answer  them  himself." 

And  so  on. 

Signals  for  applause  were  never  neglected.  "  Won- 
derful ! "  Drake  would  gasp  to  The  MacSnorter ; 
"Frightfully  clever!"  Quid,  the  Johnian  History 
Lecturer,  would  telegraph  with  his  eyes  to  Charles  of 
King's ;  "  Ripping !  "  was  the  comment  of  Belgium, 
who  had  not  yet  got  into  the  Chit-Chat  jargon. 

Coryton's  face  was  that  of  a  Sphinx  all  the  time, 
neither  enthusiastic  nor  bored,  but  when  the  essay 
came  to  an  end  in  a  splutter  of  scarcely  intelligible 
fireworks,  he  was  the  first  to  rush  up  and  congratulate 
the  author  with  dulcet  emphasis. 

A  desultory  discussion  followed  and  then  the  assem- 
bly of  prigs  gradually  melted  away  across  the  Great 
Court  in  twos  and  threes,  still  keeping  up  their  priggish 
conversation. 

As  Coryton  and  Gaverigan  walked  across  the  court 
together  the  latter  asked, 

"What  are  they  all  going  to  get  out  of  this,  do  you 
suppose  ? " 

"  Mutual  admiration  here,"  replied  the  other  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  and  universal  contempt  here- 
after." 

"  But  they  are  all  coming  men,  aren't  they  ?  "  said 
Gaverigan,  laughing. 

"Coming  men  who  never  come.  Or  if  they  come 
at  all,  it  will  be  as  third-rate  ushers  in  fourth-rate 
schools,  quill-driving  clerks,  or  literate  '  ghosts '  for 
illiterate  hacks  and  quacks,  doomed  to  spend  their 
lives  flitting  on  the  top  of  a  bus  between  the  suburbs 
and  the  British  Museum." 

The  which  in  point  of  fact  they  did. 


76  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEEE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IX    THE    MAY    WEEK. 

Talk  to  women  as  much  as  you  can.  This  is  the  best  school. 
This  is  the  way  to  gain  fluency,  because  you  need  not  care  what 
you  say,  and  had  better  not  be  sensible. — B.  DISRA.ELI. 

LADY  GIDDY  had  brought  Violet  Tresillian  to  spend 
the  "  May  week  " — so  called  because  it  is  in  the  middle 
of  June — at  the  house  of  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles. 
Coryton,  Tyrconnel,  Gaverigan  and  Lord  Pimlico  were 
asked  to  meet  them  at  dinner  and  take  them  on  to 
the  First  Trinity  Ball  afterwards.  Lady  Giddy  was 
an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Miles — at  least  to  all  outward 
appearances.  But  it  was  the  sort  of  armed  friendship, 
founded  on  knowing  too  much,  in  which  there  is  no 
love  lost. 

Mrs.  Miles  had  had  to  scheme  and  manoeuvre  with 
even  more  than  her  usual  dexterity  to  get  Violet  up. 
For  some  reason  or  other  everybody  assumed  that  she 
was  a  great  heiress,  and  as  she  was  a  "  devilish  pretty 
girl "  into  the  bargain,  she  was  in  great  request  among 
hostesses. 

Violet  had  quite  determined  to  come  up  to  Cam- 
bridge for  the  May  week  and  did  not  care  much  where 
she  stayed.  Lady  Giddy  thought  it  would  be  better 
fun  to  take  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Bull,  but  Mrs.  Miles 
made  such  a  point  of  it  and  put  on  the  screw  so  merci- 
lessly, that  at  length  she  had  to  give  way. 

The  dinner-party  was  quite  a  success,  everybody 
being  in  the  highest  spirits.  Coryton  took  in  Miss 
Haviland,  with  whom  he  was  now  intimate  after  a 
fashion.  They  always  treated  each  other  with  cordi- 
ality and  had  even  got  to  discussing  questions  of  ethics 
in  a  way  which  tickled  Corytoii  immensely,  when  he 


IN  THE  MAY  WEEK.  77 

thought  over  it  afterwards.  But  each  was  more  than 
half  conscious  of  a  lurking  dislike  in  the  mind  of  the 
other. 

Tyrconnel  sat  between  Gwendolen  and  Violet.  The 
dinner  bored  Violet.  The  professor,  who  was  on  her 
other  side,  made  it  his  business  to  "  draw  her  out ; " 
and,  though  that  was  a  process  she  was  always  very 
clever  at  baffling,  it  prevented  her  monopolizing 
Tyrconnel  as  she  had  intended  doing.  He  too,  tire- 
some boy,  seemed  at  first  to  have  no  eyes  or  ears  for 
any  one  but  Gwendolen.  However,  before  the  entree 
was  reached,  Violet  contrived  to  telegraph  instructions 
to  Corytori. 

He,  understanding  her  wishes  almost  before  they 
were  expressed,  engaged  Gwendolen  in  a  discussion  on 
Puseyism,  a  subject  which  interested  her  so  much 
that  she  left  Tyrconnel's  last  remark  about  cotillons 
unanswered  and  turned  right  round  in  her  chair  to 
thrash  the  question  out  thoroughly  with  Coryton. 
Violet  pounced  on  her  opportunity,  as  a  cat  might 
pounce  on  a  mouse,  failed  to  hear  the  Professor's 
question  about  the  "  Ballad  of  Lord  Bateman,"  which 
he  had  given  her  to  read,  and  proceeded  to  win  back 
Tyrconnel  to  her  humble  service. 

"You  bad  Pigeon,"  she  said,  shaking  a  finger  at 
him,  "  you  haven't  spoken  more  than  three  words  to 
me  since  you  came  in,  and  we  haven't  met  for  at  least 
nine  months.  Are  you  huffy  with  me,  or  what  ?  " 

"I  was  talking  to  Gwen,"  he  answered  sulkily. 

"Yes,  Gwen  tells  me  that  you  and  she  are  great 
allies,"  she  said,  without  a  shade  of  annoyance  in  her 
tones;  "she  seems  an  awfully  sweet  girl,  which  is 
unusual  in  such  a  beauty." 

The  Pigeon  was  mollified  at  once.  The  next  best 
thing  to  talking  to  Gwendolen  was  talking  about  her, 
and  his  heart  warmed  to  Violet  for  her  appreciation  of 
his  idol. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I — I 
didn't  think  you  would  care  much  about  her." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  badly  of  me,  Pigeon  ?  "  she 
asked  in  low,  sad  tones,  looking  him  full  in  the  face 
with  big  glistening  eyes. 


78  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEEE. 

"  I  am  a  beast,  Vixie,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause, 
feeling  that  he  had  been  very  rude  and  unjust  and 
disagreeable  ;  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  nasty  to  you,  only 
you  see  I  am  a  good  deal  changed  since  we  used  to 
know  each  other.  I  am  beginning  to  see  that  life  is 
a  serious  thing,  and  I  am  half  afraid — more  than  half 
afraid — that  we  shall  never  be  the  friends  we  were." 

"  Oh  !  Pigeon,  don't  say  that.  We  will  always  be 
friends." 

"Yes,  but  I  know  you  don't  like  serious  people. 
I  have  often  heard  you  say  that  serious  people  are 
like  soda  water,  either  flat  or  flatulent,  according  to 
their  age." 

"  For  pity's  sake,  don't  murder  my  epigrams  like 
that." 

"  And  you  said  a  serious  young  man  was  like  a 
rotten  egg,  offensive  to  his  surroundings  from  over- 
hatching  and  serviceable  only  for  political  meetings." 

Violet  burst  into  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

"  This  is  too  killing,"  she  said,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair, — "  the  Pigeon  to  be  taken  seriously,  the  Pigeon 
in  the  role  of  '  the  good  young  man  who  died ' !  Ha ! 
Ha !  Ha  !  " 

"  What  are  you  two  making  so  merry  over  ? "  in- 
quired Lady  Giddy,  speaking  across  the  Professor, 
whom  it  was  everybody's  habit  to  ignore  and  who  had 
not  been  spoken  to  for  over  twenty  minutes. 

"  Pidge  has  been  telling  me  that  parody  of  Mr.  War- 
ton's  about  'the  good  young  man  who  lied,'  "  said  Violet 
hastily. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  pricked  up  her  ears  and  asked 
to  have  it  repeated,  but  Tyrconnel  was  so  evidently 
confused  and  annoyed  that  she  did  not  press  the  point, 
and  a  diversion  was  speedily  made  by  the  Professor, 
who  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  take  advantage  of  the 
general  lull  in  the  conversation,  in  order  to  hear  his 
own  voice  again. 

"Well,  Miss  Tresillian,"  he  said,  in  the  loud  tones 
habitual  to  the  deaf,  "  and  what  did  you  think  of  the 
'Ballad  of  Lord  Bateman'?  I  think  you  know  the 
present  holder  of  the  title.  If  you  are  likely  to  be  see- 
ing him  soon,  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  favor  of  accept- 


IN  THE  MAY  WEEK.  79 

ing  the  copy  I  have  lent  you,  in  case  you  have  an 
opportunity  of  showing  it  to  him." 

Violet  expressed  her  thanks  in  the  language  of  nods 
and  smiles  and  then  turned  again  to  Tyrconnel,  who 
still  looked  hot  and  disconcerted. 

"  You  mustn't  be  annoyed  with  me  for  being  amused, 
Pigeon,"  she  said,  in  the  soft  voice  which  he  had  never 
been  able  to  resist;  "you  made  your  announcement 
with  such  a  melodramatic  air,  it  quite  took  my  breath 
away.  Of  course,  as  we  grow  older,  we  all  of  us  find 
life  more  serious.  I  expect  you  will  find  me  a  good 
deal  changed  too,  when  we  have  had  a  few  quiet 
talks." 

Tyrconnel  looked  up  in  great  surprise  and  his  old 
devotion  to  Violet  came  back  with  a  rush.  She  too 
had  pondered  and  wondered  over  the  dark  problems 
of  life  and  had  been  through  the  deep  waters.  He 
longed  to  hear  from  her  lips  the  result  she  had  arrived 
at.  Gwendolen  was  all  very  well  as  a  spiritual  guide, 
but  she  had  always  been  one  of  the  serious  ones  of  the 
earth  and  could  not  make  allowances  for  the  old  Adam 
of  a  character,  to  whom,  excitement  was  one  of  the 
conditions  of  existence.  She  was  often  provoking  by 
the  inflexibility  of  her  "  counsels  of  perfection."  Violet, 
with  a  desire  to  do  right  thrown  in,  would  be  indeed 
a  comrade. 

Violet  read  in  his  look  that  she  had  hooked  her  fish 
and  at  once  began  to  throw  her  flies  in  other  direc- 
tions. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Gaverigan,"  she  said  to  her  vis-a-vis, 
"  I  am  going  to  turn  the  tables  on  you.  What  are  you 
and  Lady  Giddy  enjoying  so  richly  ?  I  have  been  talk- 
ing very  seriously  to  Mr.  Tyrconnel  and  now  I  really  do 
want  to  be  amused." 

"  It's  only  a  little  tale  about  Cory  ton." 

"  How  very  odd,"  said  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  from 
the  other  end  of  the  table ;  "  Lord  Pimlico  has  also  just 
been  telling  me  a  funny  tale  about  Mr.  Cory  ton." 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  had  a  knack  of  always  keeping 
one  ear  open  for  any  conversation  in  which  Lady  Giddy 
was,  however  remotely,  engaged. 

"  Oh  !    come  now,"  exclaimed    Coryton,   laughing 


80  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

unmirthfully,  "  I  think  I  shall  begin  to  tell  funny  tales 
about  you  fellows.  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  did  you  ever 
hear  the  strange  story  of  Lord  Piralico,  the  drag,  the 
fair  lady  and  the  Proctor  ?  " 

"  No.  We'll  have  a  scandal-bee.  Everybody  think 
of  a  startling  story  about  everybody  else." 

"  Shall  I  begin,  my  dear  ?  "  inquired  Lady  Giddy  in 
suave  tones,  which  were  intended  to  give  her  hostess 
an  unfriendly  warning. 

"  No,"  replied  that  lady  coldly,  "  I  see  Lord  Pimlico 
has  something  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue." 

"It's  nothing  much,"  said  Pimlico,  speaking  hur- 
riedly, "  only  about  the  last  time  Coryton  and  I  went 
over  to  Newmarket  together.  On  the  platform  a 
bobby  told  us  we'd  been  spotted  by  sharpers.  S'pose 
they  thought  we  looked  mugs.  Anyhow,  when  the 
train  started,  there  they  all  were  and  great  fun  we 
had  listening  to  'em.  I  was  in  one  corner  and  Cor- 
ry  in  the  corner  furthest  off.  Imagine  my  amazement, 
after  about  ten  minutes,  to  see  him  stretch  out  a 
sovereign  and  bet  he  could  spot  the  lady.  Of  course 
he  lost.  Then  he  turned  crusty  and  wouldn't  bet  any 
more,  which  amused  the  boys  hugely.  I  thought, 
«  Well  he's  lost  his  quid  and  there's  an  end  of  it.' 
But  not  a  bit  of  it !  At  the  first  stoppage  out  he 
got.  I  sat  in  my  corner  saying  nothing,  without  the 
faintest  idea  what  he  was  up  to,  but  I  noticed  the 
boys  were  a  bit  uneasy.  Presently  back  comes  Coryton 
with  a  couple  of  bobbies  and  a  guard  and  a  porter 
or  two — quite  a  gang  of  'em.  In  the  quietest  way 
in  the  world  he  points  to  the  josser  next  me,  who 
had  won  his  money,  and  says,  '  that's  the  man.' 
'  Wot  d'yer  mean  ? '  he  answers.  '  You  know  well 
enough,'  says  the  bobby,  '  you've  been  cheating  this 
gentleman  out  of  his  money.'  '  Not  a  bit  of  it,'  he 
answers,  trying  to  bluster,  '  we  only  'ad  a  little  game 
o'  kyards.'  « All  right,'  sings  out  the  bobby,  and 
then  he  turns  to  Corry  and  says,  '  D'you  want  to  give 
him  in  charge  ? '  '  No,'  says  Corry,  '  I  only  want 
my  money  back.'  '  Very  generous  of  yer,  I'm  sure,' 
says  the  man,  with  a  murderous  look,  whipping 
out  a  handful  of  sovereigns  and  giving  him  one, 


IN  THE  MAY  WEEK.  81 

Then  I  thought  it  was  about  time  to  clear  out,  so 
Corry  and  I  travelled  in  the  guard's  van  the  rest  of 
the  way,  and  Corry  was  in  a  blue  funk  of  being 
ducked  in  a  horsepond  as  a  welsher  all  the  while  he 
was  at  Newmarket.  He  told  me  afterwards  that  he'd 
been  taken  in  by  the  dodge  of  turning  down  the 
corner  and  really  believed  he  was  going  to  cheat  the 
man  when  he  betted  with  him." 

"  Oh!  come  now,"  protested  Lady  Giddy,  "you  are 
all  giving  poor  Mr.  Coryton  a  very  bad  character.  I 
don't  believe  he's  anything  like  so  black  as  you  paint 
him." 

Now  this  was  precisely  the  opinion  which  Coryton 
had  been  diligently  striving  to  implant  in  Gwendolen's 
mind  all  through  dinner,  and  not  without  success. 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Coryton,"  she  said  impulsively, 
"  that  you  are  ashamed  of  your  good  impulses  and 
that  all  the  cynicism  you  impart  to  your  conversation 
is  merely  to  conceal  your  natural  kindliness  and 
generosity." 

"  You  exaggerate  my  poor  merits,"  he  said  with 
humility. 

"No,  and  I  feel  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  having 
misjudged  you.  It  is  as  well  to  be  quite  frank.  I 
thought  you  exercised  a  bad  influence  over  Mr.  Tyr- 
connel,  and  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  advise  him  not  to 
confide  too  implicitly  in  you.  He  has  a  blind  belief 
in  you,  Mr.  Coryton,  and  he  is  very  young  for  his 
years." 

"  And  you  think  I  take  advantage  of  his  innocence 
for  my  own  ends,"  said  Coryton  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  You  must  not  judge  me  too  harshly.  I  feel  that 
I  was  too  hasty  in  coming  to  my  conclusions,"  she 
said,  in  a  slow,  painful  way.  "  It  will  be  a  lesson 
to  me.  I  will  explain  my  mistake  to  him,  and  I  trust 
that  you  will  consent  to  our  being  friends  in  future — 
real  friends  I  mean." 

There  was  a  look  of  triumph  in  Coryton's  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Haviland,"   he  said,   "  I  have  never 

desired  anything  better.     But  may  I  not  suggest  that 

you  are  in  perhaps  too  great* a  hurry  to  believe  in 

my  immaculate  intentions  ?     You  may  change  your 

6 


82  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

view  about  me  just  as  rapidly  again  to-morrow  and 
that  will  be  awkward  now  that  we  have  sworn  eternal 
friendship." 

She  did  not  notice  the  sneer  that  just  flavored  his 
remarks,  like  the  tiniest  suspicion  of  garlic  in  a  salad; 
for  she  was  in  a  very  serious  mood,  and  when  she  was 
in  a  serious  mood,  she  always  fancied  every  one  else 
was  serious  too. 

"  I  have  done  wrong,"  she  said  contritely.  "  I  know 
it  is  very  wrong  to  be  so  quick  to  think  evil  of  any  one. 
The  fact  is,  I  had  never  met  people,  who  tried  to  make 
themselves  out  worse  than  they  are.  It  is  all  new  to 
me," — she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  half  smile, — "I 
hope  you  will  forgive  me." 

"  It  is  I  who  have  to  ask  forgiveness,  if  I  have  un- 
wittingly deceived  you,"  he  said  with  a  profound  bow. 

"  Do  look  at  the  way  that  little  ecclesiastic  has  been 
crumbling  his  bread,"  Lady  Giddy  was  whispering  to 
Gaverigan,  as  she  pointed  to  Funnie-Ffoulkes ;  "he 
seems  terribly  nervous  under  the  fire  of  Miss  Connec- 
ticut's chaff." 

"Like  Sidney  Smith,"  replied  Gaverigan,  laughing. 
"Don't  you  remember  he  said,  'I  always  crumble  my 
bread  when  I  sit  next  to  a  bishop ;  and  when  I  am 
next  to  an  Archbishop,  I  crumble  it  with  both  my 
hands?'" 

"No,  I  don't  remember,  you  rude  boy;  I  wasn't 
going  out  to  dinner  parties  in  the  days  of  Sidney 
Smith.  You  are  really  getting  as  frank  as  Mr.  Tyr- 
connel  in  telling  one  exactly  what  you  think." 

"  One  needn't  have  been  there  to  remember  a  story, 
any  more  than  the  little  boys  who  sing  a  ribald  distych 
on  the  fifth  of  November  were  present  at  Guy  Fawkes' 
execution." 

"Now  you  are  coming  round  to  your  Legitimist  doc- 
trines, and  you  know  they  bore  me.  It  all  happened 
so  very  long  ago." 

"  Well,  now  you  will  escape  being  bored  any  more," 
he  said,  rising,  as  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  having  at  last 
succeeded  in  catching  Lady  Giddy's  eye,  was  pushing 
back  her  chair  noisily  and  flouncing  towards  the  door. 

When  the  ladies  reached  the  drawing-room,  Mrs. 


IN  THE  MAY  WEEK.  83 

Miles  carried  off  the  American  girl  to  her  "  Holy  of 
Holies "  and  Violet,  who  wanted  a  private  talk  with 
Gwendolen,  expressed  an  eager  desire  to  hear  Lady 
Giddy's  new  Spanish-guitar  songs. 

"  You  won't  get  her  to  sing  until  the  men  come  in," 
said  Mrs.  Miles,  standing  behind  a  sofa,  with  her  arm 
in  Miss  Connecticut's,  as  a  preliminary  to  carrying  off 
that  unwilling  young  lady. 

"  Oh,  yes,  why  not  ?  "  said  Lady  Giddy,  getting  up  to 
fetch  her  instrument.  She  always  liked  to  disappoint 
her  dear  friend  Mrs.  Miles,  if  she  could. 

"  Well,  it'll  be  practice  for  you,  I  dare  say,"  said  the 
latter,  carrying  off  her  prey. 

Lady  Giddy  sought  out  her  guitar  and  fondly  spread 
out  the  array  of  ribbons  of  many  colors  attached  to  the 
instrument,  each  of'  which  she  boasted  represented  a 
separate  conquest.  The  whole  array  served  to  suggest 
a  small  regiment  of  admirers,  but  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles'  story  was  that  they  had  all  been  bought  one 
morning  at  Marshall  &  Snellgrove's  by  Lady  Giddy 
herself. 

That  lady  was  soon  trolling  forth  a  song  about  the 
.Bolero ;  Miss  Verity  was  skilfully  isolated  behind  a 
palm-pot  by  Violet,  and  Gwendolen  found  herself  let 
in  for  one  of  the  "  private  and  confidential "  conversa- 
tions, which  she  was  so  fond  of  inflicting  upon  her 
undergraduate  friends. 

Violet  began  with  a  torrent  of  gush,  which  expe- 
rience had  taught  her  was  best  suited  for  a  tete-a-tete 
with  a  goody-goody  girl. 

"  I  have  been  longing  for  a  quiet  chat  with  you, 
my  dear  Gwendolen, — I  may  call  you  Gwendolen, 
mayn't  I  ?  I  have  heard  so  much  about  you  during 
the  last  two  years,  and  it  is  strange,  isn't  it,  that  we 
have  never  met  before  ?  Now  we  really  must  make  up 
for  lost  time  and  I  am  going  to  be  frightfully  fond  of 
you  and  see  such  a  lot  of  you,  if  you  will  let  me." 

Gwendolen  was  completely  taken  aback.  She  had 
not  been  attracted  by  Violet,  in  fact  had  begun  with  a 
slight  instinctive  antipathy,  which  she  had  fancied 
from  the  first  was  returned.  But  her  loyal  nature 
had  prompted  her  to  check  the  unfriendly  feelings 


84  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

almost  as  soon  as  they  were  formed,  and  her  recent 
revulsion  of  feeling  about  Coryton  had  put  her  in  the 
frame  of  mind  that  is  inclined  to  think  the  best  of 
everybody. 

Violet  had  two  objects  in  view ;  she  wanted  to  make 
Gwendolen  fond  of  her — that  was  always  good  policy 
and  it  cost  so  little  effort ; — but  above  all  she  wanted 
to  find  out  how  far  the  girl  had  entangled  Tyrconnel. 
Keeping  to  her  usual  tactics,  she  kept  the  subject  she 
had  in  view  until  the  last,  mentioning  and  discussing 
first  all  their  other  friends  in  an  animated  way,  taking 
care  to  say  amiable  things  about  everybody. 

She  approached  the  subject  of  Coryton  with  a  good 
deal  of  diffidence,  as  she  had  understood  from  him 
that  he  was  not  popular  in  this  quarter.  However, 
to  her  surprise,  she  had  hardly  mentioned  his  name, 
when  Gwendolen  began  to  speak  almost  enthusiasti- 
cally about  him. 

"  I  was  a  long  time  getting  to  know  Mr.  Coryton," 
she  said,  "  and  at  first  there  is  a  thick  crust  of  cynicism 
and  reserve,  which  is  not  easy  to  penetrate,  but  I  be- 
lieve he  is  really  a  high-principled  man,  though  per- 
haps overmuch  given  to  pleasure." 

Violet  raised  her  eyebrows  an  imperceptible  mili- 
metre.and  then  dropped  them  again  rapidly  as  a  happy 
thought  struck  her.  To  get  confidences  one  must  give 
confidences, — whether  or  not  they  are  true  ones  is  a 
secondary  consideration.  Do  ut  des  was  her  motto  as 
well  as  Prince  Bismarck's. 

So  her  face  beamed  with  delight  as  she  thanked 
Gwendolen  for  her  warm  praises  of  Coryton,  and  gave 
her  to  understand,  under  a  strict  pledge  of  secrecy, 
that  she  was  more  than  half  engaged  to  him.  Then, 
striking  while  the  iron  was  hottest,  she  began  to  speak 
flatteringly  of  Tyrconnel  and  askeihalf  a  dozen  lead- 
ing questions  about  him  in  rapid  succession,  while 
Gwendolen  was  still  touched  by  the  subtle  compliment 
of  making  her  the  recipient  of  such  a  confidence  so 
soon,  and  was  therefore  more  or  less  taken  off  her 
guard. 

It  was  a  delicately  revised  version  of  the  old  con- 
fidence trick,  and,  before  the  men  came  in,  Miss  Tresil- 


7#  THE  MAY  WEES:.  85 

lian  had  gathered  that  Gwendolen  was  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  Tyrconnel,  that  she  had  set  herself 
the  task  of  reclaiming  him  from  bad  ways  and  evil 
companions,  considered  herself  in  some  sort  his  ter- 
restrial guardian  angel  and  meant  to  marry  him  in 
two  or  three  years,  if  he  proved  that  he  could  keep 
straight  in  the  meanwhile.  The  chief  mistake  in  her 
estimate  of  his  character  was  that  she  had  taken  rather 
too  seriously  his  present  religious  craze  and  assumed 
to  be  chronic  a  phase  which  is  as  necessary  to  the 
emotional  development  as  distemper  is  to  the  canine  ; 
she  underestimated  the  power  which  his  love  of  excite- 
ment had  to  shatter  his  best  resolutions ;  and,  where 
he  really  had  a  strong  will  of  his  own,  she  only  thought 
him  obstinate. 

By  the  time  the  men  came  in,  Violet  had  ascertained 
all  she  wanted  to  know.  Lady  Giddy  was  singing  a 
Bulgarian  love  song,  with  the  refrain  "77  si  moia,  moia, 
moia  !  "  (Thou  art  mine,  mine,  mine !)  and,  as  Cory  ton 
came  in,  she  sang  a  variation,  using  the  word  Moi 
(mine)  in  the  masculine  and  looking  him  full  in  the 
eyes.  When  she  had  explained  the  line  to  him,  she  said 
she  should  expect  him  to  get  her  a  new  ribbon  for  her 
guitar  in  return  for  the  compliment. 

"  Will  you  let  me  destroy  all  those  you  have  there, 
and  provide  you  with  a  complete  set  of  white  ones  ?  " 

"  Ugh !  why  white  ones  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  the  symbol  of  innocence." 

"  And  would  contrast  so  well  with  me." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  Lady  Giddy,  it  is  hopeless  to 
try  to  pay  you  compliments." 

"  Well,  will  you  give  me  one  white  ribbon  to  add  to 
my  collection  ?  " 

"  No.  It  must  be  all  in  all  or  not  at  all,"  he  replied, 
folding  his  arms  dramatically. 

"  You  are  a  very  ambitious  boy,"  she  said  with  a 
pleased  look  and  began  to  strike  up  "  Setu  fosse  per  me 
'na  chitarra  "  with  a  distinctly  naughty  look  in  her  eyes, 
that  nearly  made  Violet  explode  as  she  caught  sight 
of  it. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  time  for  us  to  be  putting  our 
cloaks  on,"  said  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  emerging  sud- 


86  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

denly  from  her  sanctuary  and  bearing  down  upon  Lady 
Giddy  with  scant  ceremony.  "  It  is  past  ten  o'clock  and 
the  carriages  have  been  round  some  time  " — they  were 
only  four-wheel  cabs,  but  that  didn't  matter.  Most  of 
Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles'  geese  were  swans.  "  One  doesn't 
care  to  be  too  early  at  these  sort  of  things,"  she  went 
on  explanatorily,  "  but  we  must  be  there  before  the 
Duchess  of  Puffeballe  arrives."  This  for  the  benefit 
of  Lady  Giddy.  "  If  we  didn't  know  her  so  well  it 
would  be  different.  Gwendolen  dear,  the  Duchess  told 
you  when  you  met  her  at  Magdalene  Lodge  she  would 
be  there,  didn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gwendolen,  flushing  a  little  at  the  ex- 
hibition of  snobbery,  "  I  believe  I  told  you  so  before, 
Aunt." 

"And  lam  sure  I  have  been  told  so  several  times," 
said  Lady  Giddy  with  a  spice  of  malice,  gathering  up 
her  train. 

A  minute  or  two  later  they  were  all  packed  in  the 
cabs,  trundling  along  to  the  Guildhall. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    FIKST    TRIXITY    BALL. 

When  Love  is  kind, 

Cheerful   and   free 

Love's  sure  to  find 

Welcome  from  me.— TOM  MOORE. 

"  You  haven't  asked  me  for  a  dance,  Mr.  Coryton," 
whispered  Lady  Giddy  as  they  met  in  the  vestibule  at 
the  top  of  the  red-carpeted  stairs  which  led  to  the 
Cambridge  Guildhall.  They  were  waiting  for  Mrs.  de 
Courcy  Miles,  whose  toilet  apparently  required  a  good 
many  finishing  touches  in  the  cloak-room. 

"  I  never  dance,"  he  answered  languidly.  "  Why 
should  one  ?  I  am  like  the  first  Lord  Holland,  I  never 
do  anything  which  some  one  else  can  do  for  me  and  I 


THE  FIRST  TRINITY  BALL.  87 

never  do  to-day  what  I  can  put  off  until  to-morrow. 
But  you  will  sit  out  a  dance  with  me  and  let  me  take 
you  in  to  supper,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  deserve  it,  for  I  am  sure  you  can  dance 
if  you  like.  It  is  only  affectation.  In  town  they  say  no 
one  dances  now  but  the  very  young  men  and  the  very 
old  ones.  But  I  hardly  expected  to  find  that  at  Cam- 
bridge." 

"  The  men  who  can  dance  are  generally  to  be  found 
standing  against  the  wall.  That  will  be  my  role  to- 
night," laughed  Coryton. 

"  As  a  mural  decoration  I  suppose,  you  conceited 
boy,"  retorted  Lady  Giddy  with  a  flash  of  her  fan. 
"  But  here  comes  our  hostess — pinned  up  at  last." 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  gathered  her  party  around 
her  and  sailed  up  to  the  top  of  the  room.  A  valse 
was  just  over  as  they  entered  the  ball-room,  so  they 
had  a  clear  space  and  were  the  observed  of  all  ob- 
servers. Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  was  supremely  happy. 
She  had  the  two  prettiest  girls  in  the  room  in  tow 
and  some  of  the  smartest  men.  Her  appearance 
created  quite  a  sensation.  They  had  come  in  good 
time,  not  too  soon.  The  Duchess  had  not  arrived — in 
point  of  fact  she  had  never  intended  to  come. 

Mrs.  Miles  put  up  her  lorgnettes  and  surveyed  the 
motley  crowd. 

"  A  good  deal  of  imported  material,  my  dear,"  she 
remarked  to  Lady  Giddy.  "These  balls  are  always 
rather  mixed.  You  must  not  judge  of  Cambridge 
society  from  what  you  see  here.  It  is  much  more 
select,  and  much  dowdier." 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  dowdiness  here  to-night," 
retorted  Lady  Giddy.  "  Good  gracious  !  who  are  those 
extraordinary  creatures  bowing  to  you  now?  I  never 
saw  such  gowns  in  my  life.  Do  look — one  of  them 
has  a  high  dress  close  to  her  chin  and  no  sleeves,  the 
other  has  sleeves,  and,  well — no  dress  to  speak  of! 
Oh !  this  is  very  amusing !  .  .  .  .  Tell  me  who  is  that 
object  yonder  with  a  sort  of  fender  on  her  head,  and 
flowers  growing  out  of  the  middle." 

"  Some  town  person  I  believe,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Miles 
with  ineffable  scorn,  "  the  wife  of  a  solicitor  I  think. 


88  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

I  wonder  how  she  managed  to  get  here?  Ah!  there  is 
Mrs.  Bellamy — I  thought  there  could  be  no  mistaking 
that  old  brocade.  And  there  are  Belinda  and  Cera- 

minta  with  all  the  boys  round  them  as  usual 

No,  Mr.  Sainsbury,  I  really  cannot  dance  yet.  I  have 
to  talk  to  such  lots  of  people.  What  would  every  one 
say  ?  But  I  will  give  you  one  later  on  if  that  will  do. 

Shall  we  say  number  fourteen  ?  Very  well 

What  a  ravishing  valse  this  is.  Dan  Godfrey's  Band 
of  course  .  .  .  how  well  they  are  playing."  .... 

"  Where  is  Miss  Haviland  ? "  inquired  Pimlico  at 
this  juncture  in  an  injured  tone.  "  I  hope  she's  goin' 
to  dance  with  me." 

Pimlico  did  not  care  much  about  Gwendolen.  She 
had  opinions,  he  did  not  care  for  women  with  opinions. 
He  never  listened  to  them.  "  Why  listen  to  a  woman's 
drivel?"  he  aaid  to  himself  with  good-humored  con- 
tempt— it  didn't  much  matter  what  they  thought,  or 
didn't  think.  But  Gwendolen  was  a  "good-looking 
filly  and  could  step  out  well,"  and  just  now  he  felt  in 
a  dancing  mood. 

"  I'm  sure  she  will  be  delighted,"  gushed  Mrs.  Miles. 

After  all  Lord  Pimlico  was  the  Marquis  of  South- 
wark's  son — a  much  greater  peer  than  Lord  Baltin- 
glass  of  Blarney,  with  an  enormous  rent-roll  and  a 
pedigree  which  was  not  invented  by  Burke. 

"  Ah !  here  is  Gwendolen !  "  she  exclaimed.  For  at 
that  moment  her  niece,  who  had  been  valsing  with 
Tyrconnel,  came  to  a  standstill  near  them. 

"  Gwendolen,  dearest,"  she  said  suavely  but  in  the 
tones  of  "  She  who-must-be  obeyed,"  "  Lord  Pimlico 
wishes  you  to  give  him  a  dance." 

Pimlico  scribbled  his  initials  on  Gwendolen's  pro- 
gramme, opposite  the  next  dance,  and  then  surren- 
dered her  to  her  partner  again. 

"  You  needn't  have  given  him  a  dance,"  grumbled 
Tyrconnel  as  they  revolved  round  the  room  again. 
"  I  wanted  you  to  keep  them  all  for  me.  You  know  I 
did." 

"  My  aunt  wished  me  to  do  so,"  replied  Gwendolen 
in  her  precise  manner,  "  and  he  is  one  of  our  party.  I 
could  hardly  have  refused  without  being  rude ;  though 


TUE  FIRST  TRINITY  BALL.  89 

I  confess  I  do  not  like  Lord  Pimlico.  lie  seems  to 
have  no  ideas  beyond  stables  and  kennels.  And  yet 
he  is  a  great  friend  of  yours.  How  I  wish  that 
you— 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  Tyrconnel,  with  a  fore- 
boding of  what  was  coming  and  dreading  a  lecture. 
"  I  will  do  all  you  wish  if  you  will  only  keep  me  all 
the  rest  of  your  dances.  Promise  me." 

"  You  can  have  one  of  the  extras  if  you  like,"  re- 
joined Gwendolen  demurely. 

"  One !  Oh  !  Gwen,  do  you  think  I  should  be  content 
with  one  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  call  me  '  Gwen,'  and  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  hold  me  so  tightly,"  rejoined  that  young 
lady,  "  I  can  scarcely  breathe.  Really  there  is  no 
occasion  to  do  so.  I  am  not  going  to  break  away  from 
you — until  the  next  dance  at  any  rate." 

She  was  not  given  to  banter,  but  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  check  this  threatened  flood  of  sentiment, 
or  Tyrconnel  would  be  on  his  knees  before  her  in 
the  ball-room  ere  the  evening  was  over." 

"  I  suppose  you  prefer  Pirn's  style,"  rejoined  Tyr- 
connel jealously,  loosening  his  hold  a  little  all  the 
same.  "  He  holds  his  partner  at  an  arm's  length  and 
runs  round  her — he  can't  steer  a  bit." 

"  He  tries  his  best — "  said  Gwendolen  dispassion- 
ately. 

Meanwhile  Pimlico,  who  had  as  keen  an  eye  for 
female  beauty  as  for  the  points  of  a  horse,  had  for- 
gotten all  about  Gwendolen,  and  was  dancing  with 
Violet,  who  looked  very  pretty  in  a  maize-colored 
dress.  She  had  got  up  a  little  flirtation  with  him, 
arid  even  ventured  upon  one  of  those  killing  looks  of 
hers,  half  timid,  wholly  admiring,  with  a  little  blush 
at  the  end — one  of  those  looks  which  she  had  never 
known  to  fail. 

But  it  did  not  seem  to  penetrate  Pimlico's  thick 
hide.  She  was  good  to  look  at,  but  she  knew  nothing 
about  either  horses  or  dogs.  She  pretended  to  do  so, 
but  he  soon  found  her  out.  He  never  met  a  woman 
who  did,  except  his  cousin  Theodora  Gargoyle.  She 
wasn't  here — worse  luck. 


90  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  been  getting  on  with  Pirn?" 
asked  Coryton  of  Violet  an  hour  or  so  later. 

They  were  sitting  after  supper  in  a  little  room 
under  the  gallery.  There  was  a  rowdy  polka  going 
on  in  the  ball-room.  Echoes  of  it  penetrated  even 
here.  They  were  quite  alone. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know,"  rejoined  Violet  with  a  shrug 
of  her  shoulders.  She  had  not  forgiven  Pimlico  for 
his  slowness  in  responding  to  her  advances.  "  He  is  an 
awful  bore  you  know,  and  can't  dance  a  bit.  I  have 
lost  half  my  dress  and  most  of  my  hairpins,  but  I  kept 
my  temper.  I  danced  with  him  twice — once  more 
than  Gwendolen,"  she  added  with  a  spice  of  malice. 

"  Oh !  Gwendolen  is  a  sort  of  correct  young  person, 
who  would  never  dance  more  than  once  with  the 
same  partner  unless  she  were  engaged  to  him." 

"  Then  she  must  be  engaged  to  Pigeon — for  they 
danced  nearly  all  the  supper  extras  together," 
rejoined  Violet. 

"  She  is,  or  very  near  it,"  said  Coryton,  who  had 
reasons  of  his  own  for  making  the  statement  just 
now.  "  I  am  afraid  your  influence  over  him  has 
sadly  waned  since  the  old  Harrow  days,  Vixie." 

"  Oh !  propinquity  is  everything  with  that  sort  of 
person."  she  said  flippantly.  "The  thing  one  calls 
love  is  purely  physical  with  him,  and  he  needs  the 
physical  presence  of  the  loved  one  to  feed  the  flame, 
otherwise  it  dies  of  starvation.  Shut  me  up  with 
him  in  a  country  house  for  a  week,  and  he  would 
be  at  my  feet  again." 

"Well,  his  love  for  the  fair  Gwendolen  is  hardly 
likely  to  die  of  starvation,  rather  from  an  attack  of 
indigestion,  I  should  think.  But  Vixie,  I  didn't  bring 
you  here  to  talk  about  them — but  about  ourselves — 
don't  you  think  it  is  about  time  we  came  to  some 
little  understanding  with  one  another?  We  really 
ought  to  go  into  partnership." 

Violet  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment  or 
two.  Then  she  broke  forth  into  a  little  rippling 
laugh. 

"  You  absurd  boy,  I  shouldn't  dream  of  marrying 
you,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  One  doesn't  marry 


THE  FIRST  TRINITY  BALL.  91 

nowadays  to  cement  a  friendship,  mais  pour  mieux 
devaliser.  As  to  the  partnership,  I  don't  say  no.  You 
see  we  could  carry  that  on  far  better  if  we  were  each 
married  to  some  one  else." 

"  But,  Vixie,"  he  protested,  "  I  really  couldn't  bear 
to  think  of  you  married  to  some  one  else.  I  always 
pose  as  caring  for  no  one  but  myself.  But  you  must 
know  that  no  one  is  really  without  all  natural  affection. 
I  am  awfully  fond  of  you.  I'd  do  anything  for  you 
within  limits.  We'd  get  on  awfully  well  together. 
We  both  have  the  same  views  of  life,  the  same  ideas 
of  success,  the  same  contempt  for  humdrum  people. 
Hang  it  all!  What  an  awful  time  you  would  have 
tied  up  for  life  with  a  fellow  like  Pirn,  say,  or  even  a 
dull,  amiable  person,  like  the  Pigeon,  whom  you  could 
twist  round  your  little  finger !  How  you  would  hate 
him  for  every  remark  he  made  !  How  you  would  curse 
every  scruple  of  his  which  interfered  wth  your  plans  !  " 

He  was  close  to  her,  his  speaking  eyes  looking  into 
hers.  If  his  passion  was  not  real,  it  was  at  least  ad- 
mirably feigned.  She  met  his  gaze  with  the  same 
amused  smile,  but  a  little  flush  had  crept  over  her 
face. 

"Nonsense,"  she  said,  "he  would  amuse  me.  I 
should  study  his  character.  It  would  be  such  excel- 
lent practice,  learning  not  to  mind  the  stupid  things 
he  said  and  discovering  the  quickest  ways  to  overcome 
his  scruples.  He  would  be  a  living  lay-figure,  always 
at  hand  for  experiments  in  the  art  of  wheedling 
fools." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  he  answered,  — "  not  a 
bit.  I  think  a  fool  is  an  incessant  drag  on  a  clever 
spouse,  even  though  the  blood  of  a  Howard  and  the 
riches  of  Golconda  are  there  to  temper  the  folly.  You 
and  I  together,  Vixie,  could  conquer  the  world." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand 
"  henceforth  we  will  be  partners.  You  have  useful 
friends,  a  fair  amount  of  money,  I  suppose," — Coryton 
smiled — "  and  no  affections  to  impede  you.  We  will 
go  into  partnership.  But  we  won't  talk  of  marriage 
just  yet, — at  any  rate  till  we  see  if  we  can  do  better 
elsewhere." 


92  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

And  so  they  left  it — with  a  sort  of  half  understand- 
ing on  either  side.  He  saw  it  was  useless  to  press  her 
further  just  then,  and  with  quick  tact  abandoned 
sentiment  for  other  topics  of  a  personal,  but  unsenti- 
mental nature. 

Coryton  and  Violet  sat  out  most  of  the  dances  the 
rest  of  the  evening — or  rather  the  rest  of  the  morning, 
for  the  Cambridge  May- week  balls  go  on  long  after  the 
sun  has  risen. 

They  did  not  find  it  monotonous,  for  they  had  much 
to  talk  about.  Violet  was  not  a  young  woman  greatly 
given  to  dancing  with  younger  sons  or  callow  under- 
graduates, and  she  threw  over  her  partners  without 
mercy. 

Later  on  they  went  down  again  and  made  a  second 
excellent  supper,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  bottle  of 
extra  good  champagne  which  Coryton  induced  Hubert 
Sainsbury,  the  Hon.  Secretary  of  the  Ball  Committee, 
to  produce  out  of  the  special  dozen  which  he  put  aside 
for  himself  and  his  particular  pals. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  before  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles  could  collect  her  party  and  take  her  departure. 
Coryton  saw  Violet  into  the  carriage  and  gave  her 
hand  a  friendly  squeeze  at  parting. 

As  the  cab  drove  off  he  turned  and  saw  Tyrconnel 
standing  in  the  sunshine  pressing  furtively  to  his  lips  a 
long  white  glove.  It  was  Gwendolen's.  A  gleam  of 
contempt  flickered  over  Coryton's  lips.  Then  he 
slapped  the  love-sick  swain  on  the  back  with  a  ringing 
laugh. 

"  You  must  be  very  hungry,  my  good  Pigeon,"  he 
cried,  "  to  nibble  away  at  that  indigestible  morsel. 
Come  back  to  the  supper-room,  and  have  some  hot 
coffee  with  me  instead.  It's  all  right — you  needn't 
hesitate.  I've  got  a  pass  for  the  steward's  break- 
fast. .  .  Come !  " 


A  UNION  DEBATE.  93 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A      UNION      DEBATE. 

Genius,  when  young,  is  divine. — B.  DISRAELI. 

THE  debate  at  the  Union  was  largely  attended.  The 
motion  before  the  House  was  one  of  confidence  in  the 
Government — a  well-worn  subject,  which  cropped  up 
for  debate  at  least  once  in  every  term.  But  on  this 
occasion  a  certain  element  of  reality  infused  itself  into 
the  proceedings  from  the  fact  that  the  vote  of  confi- 
dence was  to  be  moved  by  the  son  of  a  prominent  mem- 
ber of  the  Ministry. 

In  the  gallery,  which  ran  round  three  sides  of  the 
spacious,  ill-shaped  hall,  there  was  a  goodly  assemblage 
of  women — chiefly  from  Girton  and  Newnharn,  inter- 
spersed with  a  sprinkling  of  strangers,  who  had  dropped 
in  to  kill  an  hour  by  looking  down  upon  the  bloodless 
fray. 

The  brown  leather  seats  on  the  floor  of  the  House 
were  filled  with  undergraduates — those  on  the  "  Noe  " 
side  being  perhaps  the  more  crowded ;  and  every  seat 
on  the  Committee  benches  was  occupied  by  youths 
who  took  notes  and  conferred  at  intervals  among 
themselves  with  a  portentous  gravity,  worthy  of  the 
front  benches  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

The  President's  chair — a  hideous  gallows-like  erec- 
tion perched  on  a  shabbily-carpeted"  dais — was  on  this 
particular  occasion  filled  by  a  large  heavy-looking  indi- 
vidual, who  wore  a  B.A.  gown  over  his  irreproachable 
evening  dress. 

The  debate  was  opened  excellently  well  by  the  afore- 
said son  of  the  Minister,  who  wore  an  eyeglass,  culti- 
vated an  ultra  ministerial  manner,  and  alluded  at  inter- 
vals to  "  sources  of  information  not  generally  open  to 
members  of  the  House," 


94  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

It  was  a  smart  speech  and  admirably  delivered, 
though  certain  parts  of  it  smelt  overmuch  of  the  lamp. 
He  sat  down  amid  a  hubbub  of  applause. 

"  The  motion  is  opposed  by  Mr.  Walpole  Coryton  of 
Trinity  College,"  announced  the  President  in  deep 
oracular  tones,  which  he  fondly  fancied  resembled  those 
of  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  ;  "  I  call  upon 
the  honorable  Member  to  address  the  House." 

Then  he  sat  down,  settled  his  collar  and  resumed 
the  sphinx-like  air,  proper  to  one  on  whom  the  eyes  of 
Europe  are  fixed. 

Coryton  rose  to  reply.  By  this  time  the  House  was 
thronged.  The  opposer  of  a  motion  always  has  the 
best  of  it  in  this  respect,  for,  by  the  time  he  is  on  his 
legs,  the  constant  dropping  in  of  men  on  their  way 
from  Hall  has  ceased. 

He  began  with  a  curious  hesitancy  of  manner,  which 
he  always  affected  at  full-dress  debates.  There  was 
not  the  least  occasion  for  it,  for  he  knew  exactly  what 
he  was  going  to  say,  but  it  suggested  a  diffidence  he 
did  not  feel,  and  it  made  his  audience  very  tolerant — 
for  was  it  not  a  subtle  compliment  to  their  superiority  ? 
He  paid  the  usual  compliment  to  the  "  able  speech  of 
the  honorable  Opener"  and  lamented  the  disadvan- 
tages at  which  he  was  placed,  without  those  "  sources 
of  information  "  to  which  the  mover  of  the  motion  had 
so  frequently  alluded, — a  touch  of  sarcasm  which  his 
audience  was  quick  to  appreciate.  Then  he  gradually 
warmed  to  his  work,  and  his  words  came  quick  and 
clear.  There  was  nothing  particularly  new  in  what 
he  said,  but  he  had  a  new  way  of  saying  it,  and  he 
gave  point  to  his  sentences  with  quiet  little  barbs  of 
satire,  which  rankled  after  they  had  sped  home.  His 
peroration  was  delightful — the  loftiest  sentiments  de- 
livered in  a  voice  that  quivered  with  an  emotion  manu- 
factured for  the  occasion. 

The  ringing  applause  which  greeted  the  end  of  his 
speech  told  him  that  he  had  scored  one  more  mark, 
and  a  long  one,  towards  the  goal. 

The  opener  and  opposer  of  the  motion  having  been 
disposed  of,  the  debate  became  general.  Gaverigan 
made  a  short  and  pointed  speech  from  the  high  Tory 


A  UNION  DEBATE.  95 

standpoint,  full  of  winged  words,  which  irritated  his 
own  party  rather  more  than  they  did  his  opponents. 
He  began  by  taking  Coryton  to  task  for  having  spoken 
of  the  "  Liberal  Government." 

"  Sir,"  he  exclaimed,  throwing  his  head  back  and 
arranging  his  hands  on  his  hips,  "  the  tottering  ministry, 
which  now  afflicteth  England,  is  neither  Liberal  nor  a 
Government.  It  is  a  rotten  body  standing  on  two  legs 
of  unequal  length,  whereof  the  shorter  and  the  more 
enfeebled  has  been  blighted  by  the  cruel,  lying,  canting 
traditions  of  Whiggery,  and  whereof  the  longer,  with 
its  pinchbeck  trappings  from  Birmingham,  seems  in  a 
terrible  hurry  to  slither  the  whole  cursed  corpse  down 
to  its  proper  destination,  into  the  jaws  of  Hell." 

A  shout  of  delight  came  from  the  Opposition,  but 
Gaverigan  turned  quickly  upon  them.  "  It  is  not  for 
the  weak-kneed  Humbugs,  who  aspire  to  be  the  heirs 
and  successors  of  the  old  Tory  party  of  pious  memory," 
he  said  scornfully  ;  "  it  is  not  for  the  organized  hypoc- 
risy that  I  see  around  me  to  taunt  others  with  the 
inconsistency,  with  the  imbecility,  with  the  dishonesty 
that  are  their  own  watchwords  and  rules  of  policy. 
The  old  Tory  Party  is  dead  !  "  he  went  on  in  declama- 
tory tones,  "  as  dead  as  the  great  God  Pan.  But  its 
spirit  of  chivalry,  its  spirit  of  stainless  honor  still  lives 
— the  spirit  that  charged  with  Prince  Rupert,  that 
flashed  from  the  sword  of  Sarsfield,  that  triumphed  at 
Gladsmuir ;  and  some  day,  in  God's  good  time,  that 
spirit  may  reanimate  this  besotted  nation,  scatter  before 
its  face  the  fools  who  are  called  Conservatives  and  the 
knaves  who  manufacture  new  constitutions  in  Birming- 
ham, drive  out  usurping  dynasties,  and  make  Right 
and  Might  for  once  coincident  and  supreme." 

Half  a  dozen  youths  were  on  their  feet  putting  points 
of  order  to  the  stolid  President,  who  sat  blinking 
stupidly  in  the  chair. 

"  I  call  upon  the  honorable  Member  to  withdraw  the 
word  '  besotted,'  "  he  said  after  a  long  pause,  feeling  he 
must  satisfy  somebody. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Gaverigan  without  rising,  and 
then  resumed  a  conversation  he  had  begun  with  Mau- 
resk,  who  had  just  entered. 


96  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEEE. 

Everybody  laughed  and  the  President  sat  down  dis- 
comfited to  blink  anew,  wondering  why  everybody 
laughed. 

The  next  speaker  was  an  overgrown  King's  man, 
named  Drake,  whom  we  had  already  met  at  the 
"Apostles."  He  was  of  course  "frightfully  clever" 
and  had  evidently  adopted  that  theory  of  his  own 
abilities  himself.  His  speech  was  thick  and  hesitating, 
though  bearing  trace  of  elaborate  preparation.  Every 
now  and  then  he  broke  out  into  a  ripple  of  harsh 
laughter,  preceded  by  a  vacant  snigger.  For  a  long 
time  no  one  could  understand  the  why  or  wherefore  of 
these  grimaces,  but,  as  the  listeners  got  used  to  the 
process,  they  discovered  that  it  was  intended  as  an 
alarum  to  herald  a  joke,  due  precisely  two  minutes 
later.  These  jokes  were  so  abstruse  that  hardly  any 
one  could  grasp  their  meaning.  A  few  mutual  ad- 
mirers, however,  who  had  been  favored  with  a  rehear- 
sal of  the  jokes  at  the  "  Chit-Chat,"  were  seated  all 
round  the  speaker  and  supplied  the  desired  applause. 

Then  followed  "  a  poor  Indian,  whose  untutored 
mind"  impelled  him  to  make  havoc  of  the  Queen's 
English. 

At  last  a  man  in  a  Judeian  gown,  who  had  been 
sitting  well  displayed  on  the  front  Opposition  bench, 
sprang  up  to  address  the  House.  He  wore  white 
spats  over  patent-leather  shoes,  a  loud  waistcoat,  an 
enormous  button-hole  and  a  large  amount  of  jewellery. 
His  hair  was  redolent  of  the  oil  of  Macassar,  and  the 
gaudy  silk  pocket-handkerchief  which  he  waved  at 
intervals  reeked  of  "  Jockey  Club."  His  arising  was 
the  signal  for  a  general  exodus.  He  heeded  it  not, 
but  went  on  in  strident,  loud-throated  tones  which 
had  earned  for  him  at  the  Union  the  nickname  of 
"sounding  brass,"  just  as  his  general  style  had  caused 
him  to  be  known  in  other  circles  as  "  the  Bounder 
King."  His  utterance  was  volcanic,  and  his  style 
of  oratory  obviously  modelled  on  that  of  Sir  Cincin- 
natus  Spreadeagle,  M.  P.  for  the  pocket  borough  of 
Squint. 

The  youthful  orator  waved  his  arms,  indulged  in 
vain  repetitions  as  the  heathen  do,  incoherently  de- 


A  UNION  DEBATE.  97 

nounced  the  "  Arch-Anarch  of  Midlothian  "  and  all  his 
works,  opined  that  before  long  the  "hell-dogs  of 
rapine  and  civil  war  would  be  let  loose  over  the  land," 
finally  announced  his  intention  as  a  Volunteer  officer 
of  fighting  them  to  the  death— quite  after  his  model's 
famous  Yeomanry  speech.  In  his  peroration  he  spoke 
vaguely  of  a  Nemesis  pursuing  the  Government  in  the 
shape  of  "  letters  of  blood  on  a  river  of  fire,"  and  then 
having  run  off  the  end  of  his  notes — pulled  up  abruptly 
and  sat  down.  No  one  took  his  diatribes  seriously 
except  himself.  To  his  ears  the  ironical  cheers 
which  greeted  his  sudden  collapse  were  sweeter  than 
music,  and  a  smile  flitted  over  his  ill-favored  counte- 
nance as  he  thought  of  how  delighted  his  Aunt 
Mary  Ann — Dame  President  of  the  Kensington -be- 
yond-Jordan  Habitation  of  the  Primrose  League — 
would  be  when  she  read  the  report  of  her  nephew's 
speech  in  the  Cambridge  Review. 

Coryton  came  across  him  a  little  later  in  the  lobby 
outside  the  debating  Hall  recording  his  vote  with  a 
great  flourish  in  the  book  kept  for  that  purpose.  In 
accordance  with  his  rule,  Coryton  went  up  and  congrat- 
ulated him  warmly  on  his  speech — that  sort  of  thing 
cost  so  little  and  brought  in  so  much. 

"Thanks,"  said  Plantagenet-Unkels — for  such  was 
the  individual's  name — throwing  down  his  pen  with  a 
complacent  air,  "  I  flatter  myself  it  wasn't  bad  either. 
I  let  'em  have  it  pretty  hot,  didn't  I  ?  By  the  way,  are 
you  going  now  ?  " 

"I  think  so — the  debate  is  sure  to  be  adjourned." 

"  Then  come  back  to  my  rooms,  will  you  ?  I  have  got 
a  few  fellows  dropping  in  at  ten  o'clock.  Will  you 
come  ?  " 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  accepted  Coryton,  and,  so 
saying,  followed  his  companion  through  the  swing-gate, 
across  the  roadway  to  Saint  Jude's. 

"  There  are  two  or  three  mattters  I  want  to  have  a 
chat  about  with  you.  I  think  you  and  I  should  pull 
together,  old  chap,"  said  Unkels  with  odious  famili- 
arity, as  they  walked  along.  "  There's  the  Coningsby 
Club,  for  instance.  I  suppose  you  know  we  are  trying 
7 


98  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

to  get  our  next  President — Rupert  Cameron — to  come 
up  later." 

"  No,"  replied  Coryton,  pricking  up  his  ears.  He 
knew  the  Coningsby  of  course,  and  belonged  to  it.  It 
was  the  undergraduate  Tory  Club.  But  hitherto  it 
had  done  nothing  but  give  a  dreary  dinner  to  the  Uni- 
versity Representatives  and  some  other  old  fossils  once 
in  two  years — in  the  days,  that  is,  when  the  Cambridge 
University  Representatives  were  old  fossils,  and  not 
Tory  Democrats  as  now.  If  there  was  a  chance  of  Lord 
Rupert  Cameron  coming,  it  would  be  worth  while 
looking  it  up. 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,"  said  Unkels  with  an  impor- 
tant air.  "  I  am  trying  to  get  Sir  Cincinnatus  to  work 
it  for  us.  Nothing  like  having  a  friend  at  Court,  you 
know,  and  then  the  annual  election  for  the  Vice- 
Presidency  and  Committee  are  at  the  end  of  term. 
But  we  will  talk  of  that  later  on.  Come  in,  old  chap, 
and  hang  up  your  gown — here  we  are. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  BOUNDER  KING. 

"Sit  crooked,  speak  straight." — ARAB  PROVERB. 

UNKELS'  rooms  were  in  the  new  buildings  of  Saint 
Jude's  across  the  Bridge  of  Belshazzar.  They  were 
gorgeously  furnished  in  execrable  taste — carte  blanche 
having  been  given  to  the  upholsterer  in  Sidney  Street, 
so  far  as  money  was  concerned.  They  were  very  much 
too  crowded.  Photographs  were  scattered  all  about, 
sundry  Royalties,  actresses,  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spread- 
eagle,  and  other  eminent  politicians  were  interspersed 
with  photographs  of  Unkels  in  every  conceivable  pose 
— Unkels  as  Lieutenant  of  the  University  Volunteers, 
Unkels  as  Richelieu  in  the  last  dramatic  performance 


THE  BOUNDER  KING.  99 

of  the  "  Footlights,"  Unkels  in  "  Spurs"  (i.e.  cap  and 
gown),  Unkels  surrounded  by  his  pals,  and  so  on. 

The  mural  decorations  were  broken  here  and  there 
by  Japanese  paper  fans,  tin  shields  with  University 
and  college  Arms  painted  thereon,  a  Primrose  League 
Warrant  emblazoned  in  purple  and  gold, — a  device  of 
the  Bible  and  the  Crown — and  a  quantity  of  cheap  pot- 
tery from  an  emporium  in  the  Petty  Cury. 

The  Bounder  King  had  made  preparations  for  his 
guests.  On  a  side  table  there  were  biscuits,  pdte-de- 
foie-gras  sandwiches,  cake,  oranges,  walnuts,  and  sun- 
dry other  fruits,  cigars,  cigarettes,  port,  sherry,  whisky, 
and  coffee — all  execrable.  In  an  ice  pail  close  by  were 
half  a  dozen  bottles  of  still  worse  champagne. 

"  There  is  going  to  be  quite  an  orgie  in  a  small  way," 
thought  Coryton  to  himself  as  he  surveyed  these  prep- 
arations. "  I  wonder  what  I  am  in  for." 

Whatever  qualifications  his  host  might  lack,  it  was 
evident — obtrusively  evident — that  he  possessed  the 
very  needful  one  of  ready  cash.  The  Bounder  King 
belonged  to  the  monied  set  of  Saint  Jude's — and  to 
those  who  know,  this  fact  in  itself  will  be  sufficient  to 
explain  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 

The  "  men  of  fashion,"  whom  he  imitated  at  a  dis- 
tance, took  a  delight  in  snubbing,  in  pilling,  in  ignoring 
him  and  his  ilk  whenever  they  came  in  their  way.  But 
Unkels  persevered  all  the  same.  He  had  the  hide  of 
a  rhinoceros  and  intense  vanity.  If  he  could  not  be  a 
minnow  among  Tritons,  he  would  at  least  be  a  Triton 
among  minnows. 

The  guests  began  to  drop  in  and  soon  the  room  was 
full.  Coryton  knew  some  of  them  by  sight.  There  was 
the  man,  for  instance,  who  drove  a  four-in-hand  to 
Newmarket  and,  failing  to  get  a  desirable  companion, 
had  to  console  himself  with  the  society  of  a  tipster 
and  a  tout ;  there  was  the  man  who  tried  to  dine  him- 
self into  the  Pitt  Club — and  failed ;  there  was  the  man 
who  rode  excellently  well,  yet  who  always  was  pilled 
for  the  Polo  Club.  Then  there  were  several  smaller 
fry,  Judeians  for  the  most  part,  but  not  exclusively 
so. 

Of  these  Coryton  recognized  two  as  frequent  speakers 


100  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

at  the  Union.  One  a  short,  thick-set  youth,  with  a 
bullet  head,  protruding  eyes,  and  a  face  like  an  ill- 
boiled  suet  pudding  in  which  the  blotches  did  duty  for 
the  plums.  His  name  was  Gates  and  he  hailed  from 
"Pots."  The  other  reminded  one  somewhat  of  Uriah 
Heep.  He  possessed  a  writhing  body,  damp  hands,  an 
unclean  collar,  and  crooked  legs.  He  was  generally 
understood  to  represent  the  Church  interest  at  the 
Union ;  his  name  was  Bedlam  and  he  came  from  a 
place  known  as  "Cats." 

They  all  appreciated  the  good  cheer,  there  was 
much  popping  of  corks  and  chinking  of  glasses,  and  much 
introducing  of  "  Cory  ton  of  Trinity  "  by  the  host.  At 
first  some  were  inclined  to  view  the  new  importation 
with  suspicion,  but  his  manner  was  such  an  admirable 
mixture  of  deference  and  affability  that  this  frost  soon 
wore  off.  The  Bounder  King  looked  on  approvingly, 
now  arid  then  taking  one  aside  and  speaking  with  him 
in  a  low  voice.  So  might  Guy  Fawkes  have  whispered 
at  a  revel  of  his  conspirators. 

But  this  was  only  a  prelude  to  the  real  business  of 
the  evening.  Plantagenet-Unkels  had  no  objection  to 
letting  these  worthies  smoke  his  Jersey  cigars,  and 
drink  his  gooseberry-and-petroleum.  He  was  rather  a 
hospitable  fellow  in  a  way,  and  liked  to  see  them  do  it 
— only  he  expected  something  in  return.  What  that 
was  he  now  proceeded  to  explain,  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fire. 

"  You  fellows,"  he  said,  rather  thickly,  "  at  least  most 
of  you,  know  for  what  purpose  we  are  met  here  to- 
night ;  it  is  to  consider  the  situation — the  political  sit- 
uation. The  situation  is  grave." 

Coryton  looked  profoundly  impressed  and  mur- 
mured "  Hear,  hear ! " 

"  The  situation  is  unparalleled  in  the  history  of — 
of—" 

"  The  nation,"  suggested  Gates  of  "  Pots." 

"  The  Union,"  Unkels  went  on,  loftily  ignoring  the 
interruption.  "  For  what  is  the  situation?" 

Every  one  looked  expectant,  the  crushed  Gates  blinked 
his  little  red  eyes. 

"  It  is  this.    There  is  a  fellow  putting  up  for  the 


THE  BOUNDER  KING.  101 

Presidency  of  the  Union  who  is  known  as  a  Revolu- 
tionist, who  would  " — here  he  looked  to  the  photograph 
of  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  for  inspiration, — "  hurl 
down  the  august — hiccup — Monarch  from  her  Throne, 
scatter  the  Lords  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven  and 
hreak  the  Empire  in  pieces.  But  that,"  he  went  on, 
lowering  his  voice,  "  is  not  all ;  he  would — hiccup — 
pull  down  our  venerable  Church,  and  root  out — hiccup 
— religion  from  the  land,  for, — it  has  come  to  my  ears 
to-day, — he  is  an  ATHEIST  ! ! " 

There  was  a  little  stir  in  the  room.  Gates  of  "  Pots  " 
snorted  and  quaffed  again  at  the  Hamburg  sherry. 
Bedlam  of  "  Cats "  uttered  a  pious  ejaculation  of 
horror. 

"  You  mean  the  man  who  opened  the  debate  to- 
night ? "  put  in  a  mild  man,  whose  sense  of  fairness 
was  revolted,  "  but  he  goes  to  chapel  sometimes,  I  have 
seen  him  there." 

Coryton  smiled,  but  said  nothing. 

"  All  the  worse,"  thundered  the  orator  inconsequen- 
tially. There  was  a  general  burst  of  applause,  and  the 
mild  man  collapsed.  "  Down  with  him,  I  say,  down 
with  the  traitor  !  " 

There  was  another  hush ;  somebody  cracked  a  walnut, 
and  Bedlam  made  a  furtive  dab  at  the  pate-de-foie- 
gras  sandwiches.  They  did  not  get  much  pate-de- 
foie-gras  at  "  Cats." 

"  Excellent ;  but  how  do  you  propose  to  do  it  ?  "  said 
Coryton  presently  in  his  most  dulcet  tones. 

"  How  do  I  propose  to  do  it ! "  repeated  Unkels, 
swerving  round  towards  him.  "  Why,  by  standing  for 
the  Presidency  myself,  of  course.  There  is  no  other 
man.  Von  Raggedback  is  no  good." 

Von  Raggedback  was  the  other  official  candidate, 
whose  wish  it  was  to  stand  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
events. 

"  Why,  he's  only  half-English  for  one  thing,  and 
then  he's  a  Papist  for  another,"  continued  the  orator. 
"  Shall  we  leave  the  cause  of  this  great  Empire  to  be 
defended  by  an  alien  and  a  Papist  ?  No,  I  say,  no !  " 

"  No !  "  sonorously  echoed  Gates  of  "  Pots,"  who  was 
by  way  of  being  an  Orangeman. 


102  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Therefore  I  shall  stand  as  a  Protestant  and  a 
Briton — I  do  not  go  for  the  Committee  or  any  minor 
office.  I  go  slap-clash  at  the  Presidency  itself.  You 
know  my  motto :  Aut  Ccesar  aut  nullus" 

"And  a  very  admirable  motto  too,"  said  Coryton, 
as  he  flicked  off  the  ash  from  his  cigarette.  "You 
will  take  steps  to  prevent  its  being  nullus,  of  course." 

The  Bounder  King  winked  and  looked  knowingly 
round  the  room.  There  was  a  little  laugh.  Bedlam 
writhed  and  Gates  snorted. 

"  We  are  taking  precautions — we  have  taken  them," 
he  replied,  producing  a  roll  of  papers  from  his  pocket. 
"  These  are  our  little  lists.  All  our  plans  are  laid  out, 
you  see.  Jude's  is  with  us  to  a  man.  Gates  has  prom- 
ised the  '  Pots  '  vote,  and  Bedlam  that  of  '  Cats.'  " 

"  Is  that  extensive  ?  "  queried  Coryton  blandly. 

"  It  is  a  dozen  solid,"  put  in  Bedlam  in  a  curious 
falsetto  voice,  which  suggested  that  he  was  trying  to 
intone  and  could  not  quite  succeed.  "  Then  there  is 
the  vote  of  all  the  Colleges  east  of  St.  Benet's  to  say 
nothing  of  the  others.  You  see,"  he  said,  writhing, 
"  we  exchange  views  at  our  debating  societies ;  I  know 
exactly  how  things  stand." 

Gates  squirmed. 

"  The  '  Pots  '  vote  is  solid  to  a  man,"  he  said,  deter- 
mined not  to  be  left  out  of  it.  "  I  am  President  of  the 
College  Debating  Society  and  I  ought  to  know." 

Unkels  looked  at  Coryton  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  we  are  not  riding  for  a  fall. 
Every  college  has  been  worked,  except  King's,  and  they 
always  plump  for  their  own  men.  Quince,"  he  went 
on,  indicating  a  youth  whom  Coryton  vaguely  remem- 
bered having  seen,  when  he  once  attended  a  meeting  of 
the  "  Magpie  and  Stump,"  "  is  working  part  of  Trinity. 
The  point  is,  Coryton,  will  you  undertake  the  other 
part  and  give  us  your  support  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Coryton  with  emotion,  "  with 
all  my  heart." 

He  was  beginning  to  see  light  through  the  darkness. 
Why  should  he  not  win  over  the  "  bounder  "  support 
for  his  own  candidature.  That  and  Pimlico's  nomination 
would  make  him  irresistible.  As  for  Plantagenet- 


THE  SOUNDER  SING.  103 

Unkels,  he  had  no  more  chance  of  winning  than  the 
Man  in  the  Moon.  "  But,"  thought  Coryton,  "  that's 
his  look-out." 

Aloud  he  said,  "  Anything  that  it  is  in  iny  power  to 
do  shall  be  done." 

"That's  right,"  exclaimed  Unkels,  "I  thought  I 
knew  my  man.  Then  we'll  put  you  on  our  lists  for  the 
Vice-Presidency,  and  you'll  begin  to  whip  up  your  men. 
I'll  lead  and  you  follow." 

"  One  would  be  proud  to  follow  such  a  leader,"  said 
Coryton  blandly,  taking  the  lists  which  were  given  him, 
with  the  full  intention  of  putting  them  on  the  fire  as 
soon  as  he  got  home. 

The  conversation  now  became  general.  Every  one 
was  very  friendly.  There  were  more  drinks,  and  a 
little  music :  "  Wrap  me  up  in  my  tarpaulin  jacket," 
"  Sweethearts  and  wives,"  and  so  forth.  Bedlam  took 
advantage  of  the  confusion  to  finish  off  the  remainder 
of  the  sandwiches.  Gates,  when  his  host  was  not 
looking,  pocketed  some  of  his  Jersey  cigars.  After 
a  while  they  began  to  drop  off  one  by  one.  Coryton 
lingered. 

"  You  were  speaking  about  the  Coningsby  before  we 
came  in,"  he  said  presently  to  Unkels,  "  have  you  a 
little  plan  for  that  also  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear  chap,"  cried  Unkels  effusively. 
He  was  well  on  in  his  cups  now  and  inclined  to  be  very 
communicative  and  offensively  affectionate.  "  But  that 
is  a  very  simple  affair.  Funnie-Ffoulkes,  you  know,  is 
resigning  the  Vice-Presidency  at  the  end  of  the  term. 
Well,  I  don't  propose  to  have  a  don  there  again.  1 
propose  to  elect  myself — ha-ha !  " 

Here  he  winked  and  gave  Coryton  a  friendly  dig  in 
the  ribs. 

"That  is  very  simple,"  said  Coryton,  "  and  altogether 
an  admirable  arrangement.  May  one  ask  how  you 
propose  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh !  easily  enough,"  chuckled  the  Bounder  King ; 
"  at  the  general  meeting  all  the  fellows  I  know  will 
come  round  and  vote  for  me.  I  shall  give  'em  a  dinner 
first.  The  other  members  never  take  the  trouble  to 
turn  up  at  a  general  meeting  at  all,  you  know.  It's 


104  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

all  a  question  of  canvass.  We  shall  have  it  all  our 
own  way." 

"  Not  if  I  know  it,"  thought  Coryton  to  himself. 
"  Two  can  play  at  that  little  game.  All  a  question  of 
canvass,  is  it  ?  I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me 
that  phrase." 

Aloud  he  said,  "  The  Coningsby  Meeting  isn't  until 
the  Union  Election  is  over,  is  it  ?  " 

"  One  week  after.  We  shall  get  the  other  out  of  the 
way  first." 

"  Excellent,"  thought  Coryton,  "  I  shall  win  my 
Union  Election  through  this  bounder's  support  and 
then  I  can  dish  him  at  the  Coningsby." 

"  Well,  I  must  be  turning  in  now,"  he  said ;  "  I 
wish  you  all  success  ;  you  may  depend  on  me.  Good- 
night." 

"  Yes,"  Coryton  mused  as  he  walked  along  Trinity 
Street,  deserted  now  save  by  a  few  belated  under- 
graduates, "  I  have  done  a  very  good  thing  to-night 
by  going  to  that  bounder's  rooms — made  my  Union 
election  sure  and  discovered  a  short  cut  to  becoming 
Vice-President  of  the  Coningsby.  And  yet  it  was  ten 
chances  to  one  that  I  went  to  his  rooms  at  all.  Surely 
my  luck  has  delivered  mine  enemies  into  my  hands. 
Why  did  he  show  his  hand  so  ?  With  Rupert  Cameron 
coming  I  must  make  sure  of  the  Coningsby  at  any 
cost.  But  it  will  require  careful  working.  I  must 
think." 

He  halted  for  a  moment  at  the  corner  of  King's 
Parade,  beneath  the  house  from  whose  windows  Frith 
painted  the  first  scene  of  his  "  Road  to  Ruin."  The 
great  block  of  the  University  Church  loomed  up  before 
him,  almost  glorified  out  of  its  square  commonplace 
in  the  silvery  moonlight.  As  he  stood  there,  Gates  and 
Bedlam  passed  him  with  an  effusive  "  Good-night." 

"  Those  worms  are  to  be  bought  over,  if  I  know 
anything  of  human  nature,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  after  them,  following  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 
"  But  do  I  ?  The  beginning  of  wisdom  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  oneself — and  the  end  of  it  for  the  matter  of 
that.  One  is  never  so  near  being  a  fool  as  when  one 
thinks  oneself  wise,  and  I  have  been  thinking  myself 


THE  BOUNDER  KING.  105 

very  wise  lately still  if  things  go  as  I 

hope — Bah  !  I  will  not  hope.  Hope  is  a  snare.  I  will 
act.  Blessed  is  he  that  hopeth  for  nothing,  for  he 
shall  not  be  disappointed.  That  is  the  only  beatitude 
I  believe  in." 

Then  he  turned  in,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

The  term  sped  by  and  Coryton  matured  his  plans. 
On  the  surface  he  did  little  enough  beyond  inducing 
every  now  and  then  a  batch  of  his  boon  companions 
to  join  the  Coningsby  Club.  This  they  did  willingly 
enough,  for  the  subscription  was  a  small  one — all  the 
more  willingly  because  in  some  vague  way  they  under- 
stood that  by  doing  so  they  would  help  to  dish  the 
Bounder  King. 

The  Union  Election  came  and  went.  It  all  turned 
out  exactly  as  Coryton  had  expected — or  rather  as 
he  had  planned.  He  romped  in  for  the  office  he  de- 
sired and  the  result  of  the  contest  for  the  Presidency 
— around  which  most  of  the  interest  centred — was 
Marshall  first,  Von  Raggedback  second,  and  Unkels 
nowhere.  Unkels  cursed  both  loud  and  deep  and 
gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage.  But  he  consoled 
himself  with  the  thought  that  he  was  at  least  sure 
of  the  Coningsby.  Coryton  smiled  blandly  upon  him 
and  said  nothing.  They  met  at  Philippi,  and,  within 
two  days  of  the  Union  election,  Coryton  became  also 
the  Vice-President  of  the  University  Coningsby  Club, 
with  the  visit  of  Lord  Rupert  Cameron  in  prospect. 

Now  the  rest  of  the  acts  of  the  Bounder  King  and 
all  that  he  did,  how  he  blustered  and  swore  and  pro- 
tested that  he  had  been  tricked  and  betrayed,  and 
vowed  a  vengeance  that  never  fell,  are  they  not  chron- 
icled in  the  annals  of  Bounderdom  ? 


106  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ELLE  ET  LUI. 

And  I'll  give  my  heart  to  my  lady's  keeping, 

And  ever  her  strength  on  mine  shall  lean, 

And  the  stars  shall  fall  and  the  angels  be  weeping, 

Ere  I  cease  to  love  her, — my  Queen,  my  Queen  ! — Old  Song. 

OXE  afternoon,  after  a  ride  to  Liuton,  Tyrconnel  hap- 
pened to  look  in  at  Mrs.  Croft's  pretty  house  on  the 
Newnham  Backs,  and  there  he  came  across  Mrs.  de 
Courcy  Miles  and  Gwendolen.  It  was  with  a  half  hope 
of  meeting  the  latter  that  he  had  come,  albeit  he  knew 
that  she  was  not  much  given  to  "  five  ©'clocking,"  that 
favorite  pastime  of  Cambridge  ladies.  He  did  not  get 
much  opportunity  of  talking  to  her,  as  she  was  deeply 
interested  in  a  new  scheme  which  Mr.  Funnie-Ffoulkes 
was  propounding  to  her  with  regard  to  the  spiritual 
necessities  of  gyps  and  bedmakers. 

"  I  do  assure  you,  my  dear  Miss  Haviland,"  the  little 
cleric  said,  striking  an  attitude  and  smiting  his  knees 
together  after  the  manner  of  a  mediaeval  Saint  in  a 
stained  glass  window,  "  that  the  condition  of  these  poor 
people  is  sadly  neglected.  The  means  of  grace  are  all 
around  them,  yet  their  state  is  one  of  spiritual  starva- 
tion. It  is  to  this  that  I  directly  attribute  the  grasp- 
ing spirit,  and  the  misconception  of  the  laws  of  meum 
and  tuum,  which  are  so  rife  among  them.  Now  take 
the  case  of  Mrs.  Bumble,  who  is  the  bedmaker  on  my 
staircase  at  St.  Bridget's — " 

"  You  have  told  me  all  about  that  before,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, nipping  the  story  in  the  bud.  This  inconvenient 
truthfulness  was  a  habit  of  hers.  "  It  is  your  scheme 
of  reformation  I  am  interested  in — not  Mrs.  Bumble. 
How  do  you  propose  to  work  it  ?  " 


ELLE  ET  LUL  107 

Funnie-Ffoulkes  proceeded  to  unfold  his  plans, 
whilst  Tyrconnel  hovered  around  with  a  moody  brow, 
trying  in  vain  to  get  in  a  word  with  Gwendolen  edge- 
ways. But  how  could  he  do  so  when  the  talk  ran  on 
such  an  uncongenial  topic  as  that  of  the  spiritual  desti- 
tution of  bedmakers  and  gyps  ?  Seeing  how  matters 
stood,  the  ever -alert  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  after  a  vain 
endeavor  to  detach  Gwendolen,  rose  to  take  her  leave. 
Her  niece  had  perforce  to  follow  suit.  As  they  were 
going  out  of  the  room,  Mrs.  Miles  squeezed  TyrconnePs 
hand. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Tyrconnel,"  she  murmured,  "  I  wonder 
if  you  would  care  to  come  and  dine  with  us  this  even- 
ing ?  Quite  en  famille — there  will  be  only  just  our- 
selves. If  you  are  not  better  engaged,  we  shall  be  so 
charmed  to  see  you." 

"  I  could  not  be  better  engaged,"  he  said,  giving  her 
a  grateful  glance,  "  I  should  like  it  of  all  things." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  briskly;  "we  shall  meet  later, 
so  I  will  only  say  au  revoir.  Dinner  at  eight,  you 
know." 

Then  she  hurried  home  to  tell  the  cook  to  put  on  an 
extra  entree,  and  the  Professor  to  bring  forth  a  bottle 
of  his  cherished  '47  port  from  the  cellar.  None  knew 
better  than  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  the  influence  a  good 
dinner  has  in  bringing  a  man  to  the  point. 

The  dinner  passed  off  very  pleasantly.  There  was 
a  delightful  suggestion  of  home,  Tyrconnel  thought, 
about  this  cosy  red-curtained  room,  with  the  little 
round  table  drawn  near  the  fire,  the  bright-hued 
flowers  and  fruit,  the  gleaming  glass  and  sparkling 
silver.  The  menu  was  a  very  short  one,  but  each  item 
excellent,  and  the  wine  irreproachable.  The  Professor 
could  not  quite  understand  why  his  choice  Heidsieck 
and  '47  Port  should  be  produced  for  the  benefit  of  an 
undergraduate,  an  ordinary  specimen  of  a  class  which 
he  was  inclined  to  look  upon  as  specially  created  for 
the  annoyance  of  dons  and  tutors.  But  with  the  fear 
of  his  sister  before  his  eyes  he  possessed  his  soul  in 
peace,  and  said  nothing.  Now,  and  then,  it  was  true,  he 
would  make  a  restive  remark,  which  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles  was  careful  to  tone  down,  otherwise  she  too  said 


108  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

little,  only  throwing  in  a  word  now  and  then  when 
needed.  Her  policy  was  to  let  the  young  people  do 
most  of  the  talking. 

They  certainly  did  it  remarkably  well.  It  was 
astonishing  how  excellently  they  got  on  together  and 
how  much  they  had  to  talk  about.  There  were  no 
differences  of  opinion  to-night ;  they  seemed  to  look  on 
all  things  in  common. 

Gwendolen  was  one  of  those  girls  who  shine  best  in 
their  own  homes.  In  general  society  she  was  apt  to 
be  a  little  cold  and  constrained,  the  atmosphere  of  arti- 
ficiality jarred  upon  her ;  people  said  she  lacked  the 
aplomb  of  a  girl  who  has  done  her  two  or  three  seasons, 
and  perhaps  she  did. 

But  to-night  there  was  no  constraint.  "Unconscious 
of  her  aunt's  wiles,  she  rippled  on,  full  of  natural, 
innocent  gaiety,  and  Tyrconnel,  feasting  his  eyes  upon 
her  across  the  table,  felt  more  in  love  than  ever.  Mrs. 
de  Courcy  Miles  and  the  Professor  might  have  been  a 
couple  of  puppets,  so  utterly  oblivious  did  he  become 
of  their  existence. 

Puppet  No.  1,  however,  who  noted  all  things, 
smiled  to  herself  approvingly.  But  there  was  one 
thing  to  be  guarded  against,  it  would  never  do  to  leave 
her  guest  alone  with  Puppet  No.  2,  or  the  spell  might 
be  broken.  The  Professor  did  not  shine  in  the  half- 
hour  after  dinner,  and  she  knew — none  better — the 
amount  of  physical  exertion  involved  in  bawling  into 
his  deaf  ear. 

So  when  dessert  was  over  and  the  time  had  arrived 
for  the  ladies,  under  normal  conditions,  to  withdraw, 
she  said  airily : 

"  We  will  have  our  coffee  here  to-night,  I  think, 
Gwendolen,  and  all  go  into  the  drawing-room  together. 
You  see,  Mr.  Tyrconnel,  we  are  treating  you  as  quite 
one  of  ourselves.  James  likes  me  so  much  to  sit  with 
him  a  little  while  after  dinner.  He  would  quite  miss  it 
if  I  didn't." 

Poor  James,  whose  ear  had  caught  this  last  remark, 
opened  his  eyes  and  said  nothing,  though  this  was 
news  indeed.  Few  were  the  smiles  his  sister  vouch- 
safed him  in  their  home  life.  She  telegraphed  him  an 


ELLE  ET  LUL  109 

almost  imperceptible  frown  and,  sipping  her  coffee, 
chatted  on  coquettishly : 

"  And  you  must  have  your  cigarette  just  the  same, 
mustn't  he,  Gwendolen  ?  I  wouldn't  for  worlds  deprive 
a  man  of  the  delights  of  his  after-dinner  cigarette. 
The  Professor  never  smokes,  but  we  love  it." 

"  If  you  are  sure  you  won't  mind,"  hesitated  Tyrcon- 
nel,  taking  out  his  case. 

"  Not  at  all,  provided  you  give  me  one  too,"  and  she 
reached  out  her  hand  for  the  silver  case.  "  Ah,"  she 
sighed,  puffing  the  blue  smoke  with  careless  grace, 
"  how  it  reminds  me  of  dear,  dear  India  !  " 

But  her  graces  were  all  lost  on  Tyrconnel.  If  she 
had  smoked  a  short,  black  clay,  he  would  not  have 
noticed  it.  His  eyes  were  all  for  Gwendolen.  She 
looked  so  fair  and  sweet  and  pure  with  a  bunch  knot 
of  lilies-of-the-valley  in  her  white  dress.  She  was 
always  beautiful,  but  never  had  she  seemed  to  him  so 
yielding,  so  gracious,  so  near  to  him  as  she  did  to- 
night. 

Nor  had  she  been.  She  loved  this  youth.  In 
spite  of  all  his  faults  she  loved  him,  and  her  girl's 
heart,  speaking  within  her,  told  her  so.  She  instinct- 
ively heard  love's  divine  accent  here,  and  she  yielded 
to  its  spell.  With  all  her  prejudices,  with  all  her  cut- 
and-dried  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  she  was  but  a 
girl  after  all — and  she  loved.  Later,  perchance,  the 
disillusion  might  come,  the  old  rigid  principles  re- 
assert themselves.  At  present  they  were  dormant, 
drugged  asleep  with  love's  potion.  She  saw  all  things 
through  its  rosy  mist. 

Presently,  when  the  Professor  was  half  asleep  in  his 
chair  and  the  decanter  of  port,  which  oscillated  be- 
tween him  and  Tyrconnel,  had  grown  beautifully  less, 
Mrs.  Miles,  having  finished  her  coffee  and  cigarette, 
proposed  a  move  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  All  except  you,  dear  James,"  she  said  to  the  Pro- 
fessor. "  You  really  must  finish  those  notes  for  to- 
morrow's lecture.  So  go  to  your  study,  like  a  good 
dear  man,  and  I  will  come  and  help  you  presently. 
Duty  before  pleasure,  you  see,  Mr.  Tyrconnel,"  she 
added  playfully  as  the  "  good  dear  man "  went  off 


110  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

meekly  to  the  room  he  was  pleased  to  designate  his 
study,  instead  of  snoring  over  the  Times  in  the  com- 
fortable arm-chair  by  the  drawing-room  fire  as  was  his 
wont. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  accompanied  the  young  people 
to  the  drawing-room  and  fixed  Gwendolen  down  to  the 
piano  to  sing  Gounod's  song  "The  Worker." 

"  Such  a  grand,  beautiful  song,"  the  good  lady 
gushed  to  Tyrconnel,  "  and  Gwendolen  sings  it  like  an 
angel.  I  could  listen  forever." 

Yet  before  the  first  verse  was  over,  she  murmured 
something  unintelligible  about  "having  to  help  the 
dear  Professor,"  and,  stealthily  extracting  Un  Crime 
cV  Amour  from  her  work-basket,  slipped  off  to  enjoy  it 
by  the  bedroom  fire.  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  knew  the 
value  of  a  little  music. 

"  If  everything  is  not  settled  by  the  time  I  go  back 
I  shall  cease  to  believe  in  myself,"  she  said  as  she 
opened  her  book,  kicked  off  her  shoes  and  put  her  feet 
up  comfortably  on  the  fender. 

Meanwhile  the  unconscious  Gwendolen  sang  on,  her 
hands  moving  slowly  over  the  ivory  keys,  her  voice 
rising  and  falling.  The  shaded  light  of  the  standard 
lamp  just  behind  her  fell  on  her  head  like  a  glory. 
She  might  have  served  for  a  study  of  St.  Cecilia. 

So  Tyrconnel  thought  as  he  came  closer  to  her,  and 
sat  down  on  the  low  ottoman  by  her  side.  Mrs.  de 
Courcy  Miles's  drawing-room  was  full  of  cosy  corners, 
but  there  was  none  cosier  than  this  little  retreat  by 
the  piano,  framed  off  by  a  Japanese  screen,  and  two  or 
three  palms. 

The  song  ceased  and  Gwendolen's  hands  fell  idle 
on  her  lap.  She  swerved  round  a  little  and  met 
TyrconneFs  eyes.  Before  the  ardor  in  them,  her 
own  gaze  drooped  and  fell.  There  was  a  moment's 
embarrassment. 

Then  she  said,  turning  nervously  over  the  leaves  of 
the  song, 

"  It  is  a  grand  conception,  a  noble  idea.  The  toiler's 
work  done — after  death,  victory;  after  conflict,  rest; 
after  struggle,  peace.  It  is  the  thought  of  this  alone 
which  can  reconcile  one's  idea  of  a  merciful  God  with 


ELLE  ET  LUI.  Ill 

the  suffering  and  anguish  which  He  permits  to  come 
upon  His  creatures  here  below." 

"Yes,"  said  Tyrconnel  vaguely,  as  he  caught  the 
look  of  spiritualized  ardor  in  the  girl's  face.  Gwen- 
dolen in  these  moods  seemed  to  drift  further  away 
from  him. 

"  What  you  say  is  very  right — you  are  always  right, 
Gwen,  but  it  is  of  ourselves  I  would  like  to  talk  just 
now." 

"Of  ourselves,"  she  said  with  a  dawning  blush — 
"  What  of  ourselves  ?  " 

He  came  a  little  nearer,  his  lips  trembling,  his  eyes 
bright  and  eager. 

"  Gwen,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  I  love  you — you  must 
know  that.  No,  hear  me  out,"  he  protested  as  she 
was  about  to  speak.  "I  am  not  worthy  of  you,  I 
know — I  am  weak  where  you  are  strong, — but  I  do 
wish  to  live  something  better  than  the  mere  pleasure- 
seeking,  self-indulgent  life,  with  which  you  seem  to 
credit  me — and  with  you  I  could  do  it — only  with 
you,  for  you  are  my  ideal  of  all  that  is  sweetest  and 
purest  and  best.  You  are  my  good  angel,  Gwen.  I 
love  you.  Can  you  love  me  ?  " 

She  bent  a  little  towards  him  as  though  swayed 
by  the  passion  of  his  pleading.  The  fragrance  of  the 
lilies  at  her  breast  smote  upon  his  sense.  In  another 
moment  it  seemed  she  would  have  been  in  his  arms. 
But  a  sudden  wave  of  maiden  coyness  swept  over  her 
and  she  drew  back. 

"  I — I — do  not  know,"  she  faltered,  "  you  must  give 
me  time." 

"  Not  know  ?  "  he  cried,  reproachfully,  "  oh !  Gwen ! 
/know  that  I  love  you.  Time!  Have  I  not  watched 
and  waited — waited  ever  since  I  first  saw  you,  more 
than  two  years  ago?  I  cannot  wait  longer.  I  cannot 
live  without  you.  Perhaps  you  think  I  am  not  good 
enough.  It  is  you  alone  who  can  make  me  better.  I 
am  not  a  religious  man,  1  know;  I  know  nothing 
of  your  creed,  or  your  dogma.  But  I  love  you, 
Gwen." 

"  My  creed ! "  she  said  softly,  looking  at  him  with 
shining  eyes,  "my  creed  is  a  very  simple  one,  Wilfrid, 


112  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

only  that  we  should  try  to  leave  our  little  corner  of 
the  world  somewhat  better  than  we  found  it." 

"  Then,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  let  us  try  together. 
With  you  I  can  do  all  things,  without  you  I  can  do 
nothing.  Oh !  Gwen,  do  not  cast  me  off — try  to  love 
me  a  little." 

"  Dear  one,"  she  said  tremulously,  "  I  do  love  you — I 
have  loved  you  all  along ;  it  is  because  I  love  you  so 
that  I  wish  you  to  be  worthy  of  yourself — to  break 
from  the  life  you  are  leading  now,  to  try  and  live  a 
little  less  for  yourself,  a  little  more  for  others.  Oh, 
Wilfrid,  there  is  so  much  to  be  done — so  few  who  will 
do  it." 

He  caught  her  hand  in  his.  "I  will,  I  will," 
he  vowed,  "  I  will  begin  from  to-night.  For  you  T 
would  do  all  things.  Only  trust  me,  only  give  your- 
self to  me.  The  thought  of  your  love  will  guard  me 
against  all  temptation." 

And  he  meant  it  at  the  time,  every  word — for  the 
spell  of  her  influence  was  strong  upon  him. 

The  light  of  a  great  love  and  joy  broke  over  her 
face,  she  bowed  her  head  upon  his  breast — "  Dear 
one,"  she  whispered,  "  we  will  work  together  for  God." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

COTTENHAM. 

O  youth  !  thou  often  tearest  thy  wings  against  the  thorns  of 
voluptuousness! — VICTOJB  HUGO. 

IT  was  a  bright  morning  in  mid-February :  one  of 
those  mornings  when  the  crisp  fresh  air  makes  the 
blood  tingle  in  the  veins  like  new  wine.  The  sporting 
portion  of  undergraduate  Cambridge  was  up  betimes 
and  the  livery  stables  were  doing  a  roaring  trade. 
There  was  a  great  demand  to-day,  and  every  old,  raw- 
boned,  hard-mouthed  hack  was  sure  to  be  hired. 


COTTENHAM.  113 

For  it  was  the  morning  of  the  Cottenham  Meeting, 
and  every  one  who  could  manage  it  was  on  the 
Chesterton  Road,  either  astride  a  horse  or  behind  one. 

There  was  "  Spot "  Flanders,  spanking  along  with 
his  gay  little  pony ;  there  was  jovial  Jack  Jorkins 
from  "  the  little  house  in  the  park  "  astride  his  well- 
known  Bucephalus,  and  there  was  von  Raggedback, 
greatly  daring,  who  couldn't  drive  a  bit,  trying  to  drive 
tandem,  a  forbidden  joy — all  the  more  a  joy  because  it 
was  forbidden.  There  was  all  the  horse-flesh  and  all 
the  vehicles  which  the  establishments  of  Porcheron  and 
Saimders  could  produce.  And  last,  but  not  least,  there 
was  Pimlico  on  the  box  of  a  festive  four-in-hand,  hand- 
ling the  ribbons  in  fine  style. 

Four  or  five  other  men  were  on  the  coach,  including 
Gaverigan,  who  was  eliciting  the  most  dismal  noises 
from  a  horn.  In  the  boot  there  was  a  suggestive  look- 
ing hamper  and  a  case  of  champagne.  On  the  box-seat 
was  a  young  and  extremely  pretty  girl,  with  innocent 
china-blue  eyes,  a  rosy  pouting  mouth,  and  fluffy  golden 
hair  blowing  all  around  her  baby  face.  She  wore  a 
neat  little  sealskin  jacket  and  cap,  and  a  bunch  of 
fragrant  Neapolitan  violets  nestled  beneath  her  dainty 
chin.  So  fair,  so  confiding,  looked  she,  one  would  have 
thought  her  a  babe  hi  the  world's  wiles. 

But  appearances  are  sometimes  deceptive,  and  they 
were  rarely  more  so  than  in  the  case  of  Miss  Sally 
Popkins,  professionally  known  as  Effie  de  Vere.  Sally 
had  made  her  first  appearance  at  Cambridge  a  few 
terms  ago,  travelling  thither  with  a  theatrical  company 
who  played  My  Sweetheart  in  the  queer  little  theatre 
down  St.  Andrew's  Street.  Sally  played  the  part  which 
Miss  Minnie  Palmer  once  made  famous.  She  could 
not  sing  a  bit,  but  she  danced  to  perfection  and  kicked 
up  her  little  heels  and  wagged  her  golden  head  in  such 
a  roguish  way  that  she  took  the  place  by  storm.  Pim- 
lico booked  the  first  row  of  stalls  every  night  for  a 
week,  so  that  he  and  his  friends  might  ogle  at  their 
will. 

Sally  became  the  rage.  She  was  an  astute  young 
person,  despite  her  angel  face  ;  one  of  those  who  keep  an 
eye  on  the  main  chance.  No  one  knew  better  than 
8 


114  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Sally  that  favor  is  deceitful  and  beauty  vain  from  the 
point  of  view  of  a  permanent  investment.  So,  like  the 
busy  bee,  Sally  improved  the  shining  hour,  and  made 
the  most  of  her  opportunities.  She  made  many  pleasant 
acquaintances  during  those  trips  to  Alma  Mater.  She 
was  now  visiting  Cambridge  for  a  few  days  in  connec- 
tion with  some  theatrical  business,  and  residing  for  the 
nonce  in  rooms  down  the  Chesterton  Road,  just  with- 
out the  ken  of  Proctors  and  Bull-dogs.  Pimlico,  who 
was  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  her  swains,  had  called 
for  her  on  his  way  to  Cottenham  that  morning.  So 
here  she  was,  sparkling  and  laughing  and  dimpling  and 
prattling,  as  they  drove  through  the  muddy  lanes  in 
the  February  sunshine  to  the  outlying  village  where 
the  meeting  was  to  be  held. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning  for  the  time  of  year  and 
the  sun  shone  brightly.  They  found  the  course  in 
capital  order  and  betraying  no  signs  of  frost.  If  it  rode 
a  little  heavy  in  places,  that  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at  in  those  low-lying  meadows;  but,  taking  it  all  round, 
it  was  a  first-rate  winter  ground  and  as  good  a  give- 
and-take  steeple-chase  country  as  one  could  wish  to  see. 

Pimlico  turned  into  the  paddock  in  fine  "style  and 
drew  up  along-side  the  railing,  where  a  few  traps  had 
already  taken  up  a  position.  Stand  arrangements  there 
were  none,  unless  it  was  the  railing  aforesaid,  along 
which  divers  vehicles  stood  in  a  row,  chiefly  tax-carts, 
gigs,  and  sundry  conveyances  of  more  or  less  obsolete 
appearance.  This  centre  served  as  a  betting-ring, 
where  a  few  Cambridge  "  bookies "  were  already 
gathered  together.  Hanging  on  to  their  skirts  was  that 
nondescript  crowd  which  a  race-meeting,  however 
small,  is  sure  to  attract :  Sellers  of  race-cards,  purvey- 
ors of  drink  or  food — baked  potatoes,  monster  sand- 
wiches, lobster  claws,  and  oranges — and  one  very  dis- 
mal nigger  minstrel. 

There  were  few  of  those  hard  professional  faces 
one  knows  so  well  at  recognized  race-meetings,  but 
there  were  a  good  many  ruddy  farmers  and  jovial 
country  squires,  who  had  driven  over  from  the  sur- 
rounding villages  to  see  the  "  young-uns  "  ride,  and 
there  was  a  whole  batch  of  undergraduates  trying  to 


COTTENHAM.  115 

look  as  sporting  as  possible,  with  field-glasses  and 
wondrously  built  coats.  Spofforth  had  ridden  over 
with  his  sisters  from  Fulbourn — buxom  hearty  girls 
with  a  wholesome  out-of-door  air  about  them,  who 
sat  their  horses  like  Diana  and  stared  at  Miss  Popkins 
and  certain  other  damsels  of  the  same  feather  who  were 
present,  as  though  they  were  some  species  of  newly- 
discovered  vermin. 

Leaving  Sally  perched  upon  the  box,  like  a  young 
woman  in  a  circus  procession,  Pimlico  strode  off  to 
a  neighboring  tent.  A  few  of  these  tents  had  been 
erected  here  and  there,  one  for  the  Stewards,  another 
for  the  Clerk  of  the  Scales  and  so  forth.  A  good 
many  of  the  amateur  jockeys,  their  bright-hued  jackets 
covered  up  in  Sandown  coats,  were  standing  about. 
At  Cottenham  no  one  is  supposed  to  ride  but  Members 
of  the  University  and  a  similar  restriction  applies  to 
the  owners  of  the  horses  entered. 

The  start  had  been  announced  for  twelve  o'clock, 
but  it  was  12.15  before  the  flag  fell.  Only  three  could 
be  mustered  for  the  first  race,  the  Magdalene  Steeple 
Chase  Plate — namely,  Pimlico's  Potted  Meat,  Williams's 
Little  Demon,  and  Forbes's  Poppsea.  Potted  Meat 
cut  out  the  work,  and  was  followed  at  intervals  by 
Little  Demon  and  Poppsea,  until  two  fences  from 
home,  when  Little  Demon  deprived  Potted  Meat  of 
the  command.  The  top -weight  suddenly  and  myste- 
riously seemed  to  collapse,  and  so  Little  Demon  won 
easily  by  four  lengths ;  Poppsea  second,  Potted  Meat 
a  bad  third.  It  was  a  rare  haul  for  the  book-makers, 
for  the  betting  had  been  5  to  1  on  Potted  Meat,  5 
to  2  against  Poppsea,  and  10  to  1  against  the  win- 
ner. 

There  were  curses  loud  and  deep  around  Pimlico's 
drag,  and  sundry  ominous  mutterings  as  to  "  pulling." 
But  as  it  was  known  that  Pimlico  had  laid  money 
on  his  horse,  there  was  very  little  definitely  said. 
The  only  one  who  seemed  to  have  benefited  was  the 
astute  Coryton  who  had  won  largely.  Perhaps  a  little 
confabulation  he  had  with  Pimlico  had  something  to 
do  with  it.  Anyway  that  worthy's  curses  on  his  ill- 
luck  seemed  a  little  overdone. 


116  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

"  Hi, — help  me  down !  "  cried  Sally  irascibly,  from 
her  coign  of  vantage,  "  I'm  tired  of  being  stuck  up 
here  like  the  fairy  queen  in  a  transformation  scene." 

She  was  nearer  losing  her  temper  than  ever  she 
had  been  in  her  life :  she  had  lost,  or  rather  she 
had  not  won  anything — for  Sally  never  paid  her  debts 
— on  the  race.  The  tip  of  her  nose  was  getting  quite 
blue  with  the  cold,  and  the  Misses  Spofforth  had 
directed  towards  her  sundry  scathing  glances,  which, 
in  her  present  dejected  condition,  she  felt  quite  unable 
to  return. 

"  Get  me  a  glass  of  curagoa  and  a  biscuit,  do,"  she 
said,  "  I  feel  quite  faint.  Well,  some  people  have 
luck,"  she  added,  enviously,  as  she  watched  Coryton 
pocketing  his  shekels.  "  Who  would  have  thought  of 
Potted  Meat  going  to  pieces  like  that?  I  shall  be 
quite  stony  if  this  goes  on." 

"  Women  and  horses  are  notoriously  uncertain,"  re- 
joined Coryton,  and  he  buttoned  up  a  fat  pocket-book 
with  the  unmoved  air  of  a  professional. 

"  Well  I  never  !  "  exclaimed  Sally  indignantly  ;  and 
she  tossed  off  her  glass  of  cura9oa.  Then,  as  the  soften- 
ing influence  of  the  liqueur  began  to  make  itself  felt, 
she  smiled  on  him  again. 

"  Now,  there's  a  good  chap,  put  a  pony  on  the  next 
winner  for  me,"  she  said  coaxingly,  seeing  that  the 
hint  oblique  was  of  no  use.  "  Pirn  is  going  to  put  on 
something  for  me — but  he's  always  wrong,  I  want  a 
good  tip." 

"  I'll  give  you  one,"  said  Coryton  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  Do  you  see  the  Pigeon  yonder  ? "  he  went 
on  indicating  the  spot  where  Tyrconnel  was  standing 
near  Miss  Spofforth's  horse.  "  That's  the  straightest 
tip  I  can  give  you." 

"  But  he  always  fights  so  shy  of  me,"  rejoined 
Sally,  nibbling  the  edge  of  her  race-card,  "  and  to-day 
he  has  not  been  near  me  at  all." 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  to  bring  him  round.  Come  with 
me,"  he  said  confidentially,  taking  her  elbow  in  his  hand 
and  leading  her  aside.  "  We'll  talk  it  over  together." 

A  match  was  coming  off  just  then,  in  which  Coryton 
had  no  possible  interest.  They  are  always  tame  work, 


COTTENHAM.  117 

these  Cottenham  matches.  Mere  processions,  for  the 
most  part,  or  put-up  jobs  with  which  the  book- 
makers will  have  nothing  to  do.  Under  cover  of  this 
particular  one,  Coryton  and  Sally  had  an  animated  little 
dialogue,  which  apparently  ended  quite  satisfactorily. 

Gwendolen's  influence  must  be  checked  at  all  hazards, 
and  Coryton  knew — or  thought  he  knew — that  the 
only  way  to  check  a  woman's  influence  over  a  man 
is  by  playing  oft'  another  woman  upon  him.  He  had 
not  studied  Tyrconnel's  character  in  vain.  There 
were  certain  passions  which  ran  strong  in  him,  and, 
if  Sally  could  only  play  upon  them  sufficiently,  his 
good  resolves  would  melt  like  snow  before  the  sun. 
So  he  put  matters  in  train,  and  trusting  her  woman's 
wit  to  do  the  rest,  hurried  off  to  the  next  race  in 
which  he  was  keenly  interested. 

The  Cottenham  Hurdle  Race  was  one  of  the  big 
events  of  the  meeting.  Some  half  a  dozen  were  try- 
ing conclusions.  Among  them  Coryton's  Vixie  (rose 
and  primrose),  ridden  by  Williams,  was  soon  in- 
stalled favorite.  Tyrconnel's  Cutlet  (green  and  Avhite), 
ridden  by  himself,  found  plenty  of  backers,  and  so 
too  did  Wilmot's  Rosbif  (orange  and  blue).  The 
running  was  first  made  by  Cutlet,  but  about  half 
distance  Rosbif  joined  him,  and  they  went  on  side  by 
side.  The  lot  kept  pretty  close  company  until  some 
five  furlongs  from  home,  when  Vixie,  who  until  now 
had  been  laying  back,  came  creeping  up — and  took 
second  place.  From  that  point  it  was  an  exciting 
race.  Cutlet,  Vixie  and  Rosbif  seemed  almost  of  a 
cluster  at  the  last  flight  of  hurdles  and  only  after 
a  very  pretty  struggle  did  Vixie — who,  strange  to 
say,  was  seen  over  "  sticks  "  now  for  the  first  time — 
win  by  a  neck,  Rosbif  beating  Cutlet  by  a  head  for 
the  second  place. 

After  this  came  lunch,  every  one  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  Pimlico  beaming,  Coryton  radiant,  Forbes 
facetious,  Sally  brimming  over  with  good-humor. 
Only  Tyrconnel,  who  joined  the  party  when  lunch 
was  half  over,  was  a  little  down  on  his  luck — as 
well  he  might  be,  for  he  had  backed  his  horse  heavily 
and  lost.  However,  under  the  genial  influence  of 


118  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Pimlico's  champagne,  with  which  Coryton  plied  him 
freely,  he  soon  recovered  his  spirits,  or  rather  he 
alternated  between  boisterous  outbursts  of  merriment 
and  sudden  fits  of  gloom. 

Sally,  who  had  somehow  contrived  to  be  next  to 
him,  prattled  on  in  her  artless  way  to  a  running 
accompaniment  of  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks 
and  the  popping  of  corks.  She  did  not  talk  to  Tyr- 
connel  very  much,  but  once,  when  no  one  was  looking, 
she  laid  her  little  hand  on  his,  and  whispered  how 
sorry,  how  very  sorry  she  was  that  Cutlet  had  lost. 
Looking  down  into  her  upturned  eyes,  he  began  to 
think  that  she  was  really  a  very  nice,  good-natured 
little  thing — and  felt  a  sort  of  half  pity,  half  liking, 
for  her  steal  over  him.  Xo  doubt  the  wine  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it. 

Coryton,who  noted  everything,  noted  this,  and  smiled. 

"  Very  good,  Sally !  first-rate !  keep  it  up,"  he 
whispered  in  an  aside,  when  lunch  was  over,  and  Tyr- 
connel, flushed  and  smoking  a  very  big  cigar,was  stand- 
ing a  little  way  off,  making  entries  in  his  pocket-book. 

Sally  looked  knowingly  at  him  as  he  hurried  off 
to  the  tent,  for  the  next  race  was  about  to  begin.  It 
was  the  Fulbourn  Steeple-chase,  which  had  been  in- 
stituted by  Spofforth  some  three  or  four  years  before. 

Tyrconnel  was  not  riding  in  this,  so  he  wrent  across 
the  meadow  to  see  the  water-jump, — the  famous  Cot- 
tenham  water-jump,  at  which  nearly  every  one  comes 
to  grief.  Though  fair  horsemen  in  their  way,  the 
riders  exhibited  some  very  questionable  jockeyship 
here,  floundering  over  in  hopeless  style.  Wilmot 
came  an  awful  cropper,  but  Pimlico's  horse  cleared  it 
somehow,  thundering  over  in  a  way  that  made  the 
earth  shake,  and  managed  in  the  straggling  finish  to 
win  by  a  neck. 

As  Tyrconnel  was  going  back  across  the  paddock, 
he  heard  a  little  cry,  and  turning,  saw  Sally  leaning 
against  a  gate,  the  corner  of  her  baby  mouth  drooping, 
her  face  drawn  with  pain. 

"What  is  it?  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  he 
asked,  with  concern. 

"  I  have  twisted  my  ankle,  I  think,"  she  said ;  "  I 


COTTENHAM.  lid 

wanted  to  see  the  water-jump  and  was  hurrying  and 
my  foot  caught  in  one  of  these,"  pointing  to  the  rough 
clumps  of  coarse  grass  which  were  dotted  around, 
"  and — oh !  it  does  hurt  so,  Mr.  Tyrconnel !  "  And  she 
lifted  her  face  appealingly  to  his. 

"  Poor  little  thing ! "  he  said  compassionately. 
"Whatever  induced  you  to  go  running  about  these 
meadows  all  by  yourself?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
you  wanted  to  see  the  jump,  and  I  would  have  given 
you  a  lift  across." 

"  I— I  didn't  like  to,"  said  Sally,  looking  at  him  with 
those  great  blue  eyes  of  hers,  "  but  I  would  have 
liked  to  go  with  you  very  much,"  she  added  hesitat- 
ingly, after  a  minute's  pause.  Then  she  looked  down 
again. 

"  Well  you  mustn't  be  standing  here,"  said  Tyrconnel, 
good-naturedly,  not  oblivious  of  the  flattery  suggested 
in  that  hesitating  look.  "  Come,  take  hold  of  my  arm, 
and  see  if  we  can  get  back  to  the  coach.  We  will  go 
very  slowly." 

Sally  put  her  little  hand  on  his  rough  coat-sleeve  and 
limped  along  by  his  side. 

"  But  I  am  keeping  you — and  you  want  to  go  away," 
she  said  after  they  had  gone  a  little  distance ;  pressing 
closer  to  his  side  nevertheless.  "  If  it  had  not  been 
for  you  I  should  have  been  left  there  all  alone." 

"  Oh !  Pirn  would  have  come  after  you,"  replied 
Tyrconnel  un sympathetically,  "and  he  would  have 
done  much  better  than  I." 

"  Oh  no,"  protested  Sally,  pouting  a  little,  "  not  so 
well — not  nearly  so  well.  He  is  so  rough." 

Her  hand  on  his  arm  tightened  a  little  as  she  said  it. 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  get  on  with  him  very  well,  in 
spite  of  his  roughness,"  rejoined  Tyrconnel  bluntly. 
The  wine  was  in  his  head  somewhat,  but  he  was  very 
loyal  and  did  not  like  the  slighting  tone  in  which  Sally 
spoke  of  the  absent. 

She  caught  her  breath  a  little — a  half-sigh,  half-sob. 
"  I  have  to  get  on  with  him,"  she  said. in  a  low  voice 
and  then  stood  still. 

Tyrconnel  looked  down  on  her  in  a  puzzled  way. 
The  corners  of  her  mouth  were  twitching  tremulously, 


120  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

her  eyes  were  swimming  with  unshed  tears.  It  is  a 
dangerous  mood,  that  of  beauty  in  distress ! 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  translating  his 
thoughts  into  words. 

Sally  looked  around.  They  were  all  alone  in  the 
wind-swept  meadow.  The  shouting  crowd  yonder  by 
the  betting-ring  seemed  very  far  off.  Some  fine  nerve 
quivered  in  her  lip — she  seemed  at  the  point  of  tears. 

"How  can  I  tell  you  what  I  mean?"  she  said, 
"  you  would  not  believe  me  if  I  did.  You  think  I  have 
no  feelings,  I  suppose — but  I  tell  you  I  don't  care  for 
Pirn  a  bit — and  I  do  care  for  somebody  else — who 
never  takes  any  notice  of  me  at  all — and  I  am  tired  of 
my  life,  and  wish  I  had  never  been  born." 

She  burst  into  tears  and  buried  her  face  on  Tyr- 
connel's  shoulder. 

He  felt  his  pulses  quicken  a  little  as  she  pressed 
against  him.  It  was  only  compassion,  of  course.  He 
hardly  grasped  the  meaning  of  her  words.  She  was 
unhappy  and  tired  of  her  life.  Surely  here  was  an 
instance  in  which  he  might  do  something  to  help  an 
erring  fellow-creature, — some  of  that  good  which 
Gwendolen  was  always  telling  him  about.  But  Gwen- 
dolen with  the  soft  low  voice  and  sweet  pure  face 
seemed  very  distant  just  now  as  the  sobbing  girl 
nestled  against  his  shoulder.  He  could  not  bear  up 
against  a  woman's  tears. 

"  Poor  little  one,"  he  said  perplexedly,  putting  his 
arm  round  her  in  a  protecting  way,  "  don't  cry,  I  will 
help  you  if  I  can." 

Sally  prisoned  his  hand  in  hers,  and  her  sobbing 
ceased. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said  brokenly,  "very  good 
to  me  indeed — not  like  the  others  who  think  I'm  made 
for  nothing  but  to  laugh  and  joke  with.  It's  very 
hard,"  she  continued  brushing  away  a  tear;  "people 
always  blame  a  girl." 

There  was  a  ring  of  sincerity  in  her  voice.  She 
stepped  briskly  out  as  she  spoke.  She  seemed  quite  to 
have  forgotten  her  lameness. 

Her  companion  did  not  notice  the  sudden  and  mirac- 
ulous recovery,  he  was  so  moved  by  her  words,  or 


COTTENHAM.  121 

rather  by  her  tears,  possibly  too  by  the  little  hand 
which  nestled  so  confidingly  in  his  own.  He  pressed 
it  in  silent  sympathy,  trying-  to  think  the  while  what 
he  could  say  or  do  to  comfort  her.  She  was  such  a 
pretty,  helpless,  little  thing.  Suffering  or  sorrow 
always  went  straight  to  TyrconnePs  heart.  He  was 
as  malleable  as  clay  in  the  hands  of  a  potter  with  a 
pretty  woman.  It  was  on  this  weakness  Sally  was 
trading  now. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something,"  he  said  again,  half 
to  himself — half  to  her.  There  was  a  vague  idea  in 
his  mind  of  offering  her  money — but  he  had  never 
given  money  to  a  woman.  His  men  friends  were  in 
the  habit  of  borrowing  from  him  freely — at  least  they 
called  it  borrowing,  though  they  never  paid  him  back 
—but  that  was  another  thing.  A  sense  of  shyness 
held  him  back  ;  and  then  he  could  not  offer  very  much 
just  now,  for  his  losses  that  morning  had  been  heavy. 
He  did  not  know  Sally  or  he  would  have  had  no  such 
scruples,  either  about  offering  the  money  or  as  to  the 
smallness  of  the  amount.  She  was  a  veritable  daughter 
of  the  horse-leech  so  far  as  money  was  concerned. 
But  just  now  her  thoughts  were  running  on  other 
things.  She  changed  her  tack. 

"Will  you  come  to  the  dinner  this  evening?"  she 
said  coyly  looking  up  at  him,  "Pirn's  Cottenham 
dinner — it  is  to  be  in  my  rooms — and  if  you  come  it 
will  make  it  so  pleasant  for  me.  Do  come,"  she  added 
coaxingly. 

Tyrconnel  hesitated.  With  the  full  flood  of  his 
good  resolutions  upon  him,  he  had  refused  this  dinner, 
meaning  thereby  to  take  the  first  step  in  the  upward 
path  which  Gwendolen  had  pointed  out  to  him.  It 
was  to  be  the  beginning  of  the  break  with  his  old  life. 
It  had  not  cost  him  much  of  an  effort  to  refuse,  for  he 
knew  the  dinner  would  be  exactly  like  all  the  others 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  attending,  and  even  those 
delights  were  apt  to  pall  when  one  had  too  much  of 
them. 

But  he  had  thought  it  a  great  sacrifice  none  the  less, 
and  was  rather  proud  of  his  resolution  in  refusing 
Pimlico's  invitation.  Gwendolen  would  approve  of 


122  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

that,  he  felt  sure.  She  "would  certainly  have  approved 
of  his  resolution  much  more  if  she  had  known  that  Sally 
was  to  be  there.  But  of  that  he  did  not  think  just  now. 

"I — I  am  afraid  I  can't,"  he  said  a  little  awkwardly. 
"  I  have  told  Pirn  I  can't  go — I've  got  another  engage- 
ment." 

Sally  pouted  and  her  lip  began  to  tremble  again. 

"  That  is  just  it,"  she  said  with  a  sound  of  tears  in 
her  voice.  "  Men  are  all  the  same.*  They  will  do  any- 
thing and  everything — until  you  ask  them — and  then 

—they  will  do  nothing And  it's  such  a  little 

thing  too.  Do  come." 

The  blue  eyes  were  so  beseeching.  Her  face  was 
flushed  with  her  pretty  pleading.  How  could  he 
refuse  her  ?  After  all,  it  was  such  a  little  thing. 

"  I  will  come,"  he  said  a  little  unsteadily,  pressing 
her  hand  to  emphasize  his  words. 

A  gleam  of  triumph  glistened  in  Sally's  eyes.  They 
were  close  to  the  betting-ring  again  now  and  there 
was  hardly  time  for  her  to  do  more  than  murmur  her 
thanks  before  Pimlico  came  up  and  swept  her  off  to 
the  drag.  There  was  only  one  more  race  and  then 
they  drove  home  through  the  chill  gray  of  the  February 
afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT  HER  FEET  HE  BOWED  AND  FELL. 

Salvation  should  be  very  simple,  since  it  is  so  easy  to  damn 
oneself. — ANON. 

THE  little  house  in  the  Chesterton  Road  was  full  of 
light  and  laughter.  It  was  not  a  big  party,  only  half 
a  dozen  or  so,  bosom  chums  of  Pimlico — all  the  usual 
set  was  there. 

Tyrconnel  had  come  in  spite  of  himself.  He  wa- 
vered a  good  deal  when  he  got  back  from  Cottenham. 
Had  Gwendolen  been  in  Cambridge  she  could  have 


AT  HER  FEET  HE  BOWEL  AND  FELL.         123 

saved  him,  but  she  had  gone  away  for  a  few  days 
with  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  and  he  was  unable  to  while 
away  the  hour  between  the  lights  by  strolling  up  to 
the  house  on  Newnham  Backs.  So  he  put  in  a  chapel 
instead. 

It  was  a  white  chapel,  for  it  was  the  vigil  of  some 
saint.  The  sober-minded,  stately  prayers,  the  chanting 
of  the  choir,  the  long  lines  of  white- robed  undergrad- 
uates thrown  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  dark  panelled 
walls,  and  far  away  in  the  richly-carved  stall,  the 
grand,  silver  head  of  the  Master — all  these  things  ap- 
pealed to  Tyrconnel  strangely  and  reminded  him  in 
some  vague  way  of  Gwendolen.  As  in  all  excitable, 
emotional  natures,  there  was  a  certain  devotional  vein 
running  through  him. 

When  he  came  out  of  the  chapel  he  had  fully  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  go  to  Pimlico's  dinner  after  all. 
But  in  his  rooms  he  found  Coryton  ready,  dressed  and 
waiting  for  him, — Coryton,  smooth,  bland,  and  per- 
suasive as  ever,  who  seemed  to  think  it  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should  go,  and 
pooh-poohed  his  excuses  in  an  airy  manner.  Tyrconnel 
yielded  after  a  brief  resistance,  and  they  went  off  to- 
gether. 

"  You  see  we  can  slip  away  early,"  said  Coryton 
confidentially,  as  they  went  along.  "  I  don't  feel  in- 
clined to  make  a  bout  of  it  to-night." 

The  other  quite  agreed. 

But  before  the  dinner  was  half  through  all  thought 
of  slipping  away  early  had  vanished  from  Tyrconnel's 
head.  Sally's  smiles  and  the  genial  influence  born 
of  a  good  dinner  put  matters  in  quite  a  different 
light.  Everything  was  very  well  done,  the  table  was 
decorated  with  roses  and  primroses,  the  colors  of 
the  winning  horse,  and  the  light  was  tempered  by 
rose-hued  shades.  Everybody  was  in  great  form — no 
one  more  so  than  Sally.  She  wore  a  pretty  pale 
pink  dress,  cut  in  a  way  which  showed  off  her  dainty 
neck  and  rounded  arms  to  the  best  advantage.  She 
had  the  passion  for  diamonds  common  to  women  of 
her  class,  and  many  little  stars  and  brooches  and 
clasps  adorned  her  bodice  and  twinkled  amid  the  fluffy 


124  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

mists  of  her  golden  hair.  Most  of  them  were  paste 
probably,  but  they  passed  muster  very  well,  and  served 
to  give  an  added  point  to  her  sparkling  beauty,  and  to 
enhance  the  brightness  of  her  eyes.  She  was  full  of 
"  quips  and  cranks  and  wreathed  smiles  "  and  had  an 
answer  ready  for  every  one.  But  her  attentions  were 
chiefly  reserved  for  Pimlico  and  Tyrconnel,  between 
whom  she  sat. 

As  the  dinner  neared  its  end  and  Pimlico  dipped 
deeper  into  his  cups,  Sally  was  able  to  give  more 
attention  to  her  other  neighbor.  She  had  already 
whispered  to  him  how  very,  very  good  it  was  of  him  to 
come,  accompanying  her  words  with  a  squeeze  of  the 
hand  under  the  table-cloth^  And  Tyrconnel,  as  he 
patted  the  little  hand  and  looked  into  the  candid  depths 
of  her  childlike  eyes,  thought  himself  a  fool  for  having 
wavered  at  all. 

lie  lifted  his  glass  and  toasted  her  admiringly  :  he 
had  done  so  several  times  before  that  evening.  (Every 
one  was  toasting  Sally.)  When  he  put  it  down  again, 
she  stooped  forward  and  touched  it  with  her  mouth, 
just  where  his  lips  had  pressed  the  rim. 

"  I  do  that  for  good  luck  to  you,"  she  murmured 
softly,  meeting  his  eyes.  "  I  go  away  to-morrow  and 
may  not  see  you  again.  But  I  shall  never  forget  you." 

"  Nor  shall  I  forget  you,"  replied  Tyrconnel,  whose 
blood  was  now  slightly  warmed  by  the  enlivening 
wine,  repaying  her  glance  with  interest.  "  You  must 
tell  me  where  I  can  find  you." 

"  Alpha  Cottage,  Beta  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,"  re- 
joined Sally  promptly,  "  and  you  will  come  to  tea  with 
me  there  one  afternoon,  won't  you? — here,"  she  said, 
taking  the  menu  card,  "  I  will  write  it  down  .... 
Now  don't  forget, — the  very  next  time  you  are  in  town." 

What  Tyrconnel  might  have  replied  it  is  impossible 
to  say,  for  at  that  moment  their  tete-ct-tete  was  rudely 
interrupted  by  a  rain  of  flowers  from  the  other  side  of 
the  table.  Miss  Popkins  returned  the  volley  with  in- 
terest, and  for  the  next  few  minutes  confusion  reigned 
supreme.  It  was  the  usual  senseless  "rag"  in  which 
Pimlico  and  his  friends  were  wont  to  indulge  at  their 
convivial  gatherings,  and  the  presence  of  the  lady  seemed 


A  T  HER  FEET  HE  BOWED  AND  FELL.          125 

rather  to  egg  them  on  than  to  restrain  them.  Sally 
snatched  Tyrconnel's  button-hole  from  his  coat.  He 
retaliated  by  robbing  some  of  the  flowers  which  nestled 
among  the  laces  at  her  breast.  Forbes  was  pelting 
Pimlico  with  bread,  while  Williams  and  Wilmot  had 
found  convenient  missiles  in  the  marrons  glaces. 

Wilmot  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  thump 
out  a  "  razzle-dazzle  "  polka.  The  table  was  pushed 
aside,  a  space  quickly  cleared,  and  most  of  the  party 
were  soon  careering  around  the  room.  Sally  danced 
as  much  as  she  could,  but  after  a  time  she  subsided 
breathlessly  into  a  chair,  shrieking  with  laughter  at 
the  uncouth  antics  of  Pimlico  and  the  others.  Cory- 
ton,  who  never  exerted  himself,  quietly  turned  Wilmot 
from  the  piano  and,  sitting  down,  commenced  to  play. 
Then  Tyrconnel,  flushed  and  excited  with  wine  and 
overmuch  revolving  in  a  small  space,  came  up  and 
begged  Sally  for  a  dance.  She  consented  instantly 
and  round  they  went  at  a  furious  rate. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  music  closed  with  a  crash 
and  Cory  ton  jumped  up  from  the  piano. 

"  Come,  Pirn,"  he  cried,  taking  that  individual,  who 
had  subsided  into  a  semi-somnolent  condition,  by  the 
arm,  "let's  have  a  lemon  squash  to  steady  ourselves, 
and  a  game  of  cards  before  turning  in.  Come  along, 
it's  nearly  half-past  eleven  already,  and  it  won't  do  to 
be  late  to-night." 

Pimlico  assented  sleepily.  So  did  the  others,  and 
gathered  themselves  around  the  table — all  except  Sally 
and  Tyrconnel,  who  cried  off. 

"  You  come  and  talk  to  me,"  she  said  affectionately, 
putting  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  leading  him  into 
one  of  those  queer  tent-like  little  erections,  which 
Cambridge  upholsterers  are  so  fond  of  rigging  up  in 
the  corners  of  undergraduates'  rooms.  Sally's  lodgings 
were  not  precisely  undergraduates '  rooms,  but  they 
boasted  one  of  these  little  cosy  corners  all  the  same. 

They  sat  down  side  by  side  in  the  semi-gloom. 
There  was  only  one  low  seat,  heaped  up  with  billowy 
cushions,  so  they  shared  it  together.  Sally  took  a 

glass  of  green  chartreuse ;  Tyrconnel  took  several 

They  gave  alternate  puffs  at  the  same  cigarette.  The 


126  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

others  were  so  much  engrossed  with  their  game  that 
they  were  practically  alone,  free  to  whisper  any  soft 
nothings  they  might  please. 

But  Tyrconnel,  at  least,  had  got  past  the  stage  of 
conversation.  Tie  was  no  St.  Anthony  to  remain  in- 
sensible to  the  witchery  of  this  woman — only  a  head- 
strong youth  with  a  slender  stock  of  good  resolutions, 
which  were  now  melting  away  like  snow  before  the 

sun They  were  so  near  to  one  another,  the 

perfume  of  her  hair  was  in  his  nostrils,  the  fumes  of 

wine  in  his  brain A  sensuous  drowsiness  stole 

over  him,  the  scarlet  mouth  trembled  close  to  his  own, 

the  little  hands  were  in  his He  bowed  his 

head,  and  their  lips  met 

"By  Jove!  You  fellows,  it's  half-past  twelve," 
cried  Coryton  suddenly  throwing  down  his  cards. 
"  This  is  the  third  night  this  week.  We  must  be  off 
— every  one  of  us,  or  we  shall  be  gated  for  the  rest  of 
the  term.  Come  on,  Pirn  "  — and  he  snatched  up  his 
cap  and  gown — "  I'll  race  you  as  far  as  Magdalene." 

But  that  worthy,  who  was  now  in  the  quarrelsome 
stage,  began  to  wrangle  about  his  winnings.  There 
was  a  general  bustle  and  scrimmage  until  Coryton 
impatiently  hurried  him  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  closely  followed  by  the  others. 


"  Have  you  heard  the  news,  Corry  ?  "  cried  Forbes, 
bursting  into  Coryton's  rooms  about  lunch-time  next 
morning  and  discovering  that  youth  half-dressed  in  a 
cosy  chair  by  the  fire,  with  silver  grill  dishes,  a  half 
empty  coffee-cup  and  all  the  other  evidences  of  a  late 
breakfast  beside  him. 

"  What  news  ?  "  asked  Coryton  languidly,  throwing 
a  little  patchouli-scented  note  upon  the  fire  as  he  spoke. 

"  Why,  about  the  Pigeon.  He's  in  for  it  this  time 
and  no  mistake.  We  clean  forgot  all  about  him  last 
night.  He's  been  gated  before  this  term.  The  Dean 
is  furious.  He  was  hauled  this  morning  for  being  out 
after  twelve  o'clock  and  could  give  no  account  of  him- 


THE  TRUMP  CARD.  127 

self  at  all.  There's  to  be  a  college  meeting  this  after- 
noon and  he'll  be  sent  down  for  the  rest  of  the  term  as 
sure  as  a  gun." 

"  Poor  Pigeon ! "  said  Coryton  meditatively,  as  he 
watched  the  smoke  curl  upwards  from  his  cigarette. 
"  Well,  we  must  pay  for  our  little  pleasures  sometimes 
you  know.  Have  you  seen  him  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  just  come  from  him.  He's  awfully 
down  about  it,  full  of  repentance  and  remorse  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  One  is  generally  repentant  when  one  is  found  out, 
and  remorseful  when  one  can't  do  it  again,"  rejoined 
Coryton  drily.  "  I  am  amused  to  think  how  shocked 
the  good  Gwendolen  will  be  !  I  would  rather  face  a 
college  meeting  than  her  reproachful  gaze.  Wait  a 
minute,  until  I  put  on  my  coat,  and  we  will  go  round 
and  comfort  him." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    TRUMP    CARD. 

Man  hat  keinen  Erfolg  oder  einen  groszen.  Und  der  grosze 
Erfolg  gleicht  oft  einem  verwirklichten  Marchentraum. — F. 
VON  KAPFF-ESSENTIIEK. 

LORD  RUPERT  CAMERON  had  accepted  the  presidency 
of  the  University  Coningsby  Club  without  quite  real- 
izing the  small  part  which  that  institution  played  in 
the  undergraduate  world.  His  acceptance  of  that  post 
conferred  a  momentary  importance  upon  the  club  and 
helped  to  confer  a  more  than  momentary  importance 
upon  Walpole  Coryton,  its  Vice-President  and  local 
chief.  The  smart  sets  suddenly  discovered  its  ex- 
istence and  thronged  to  join  it,  a  rowdy  dinner  was 
instituted  twice  a  term  in  connection  with  it,  and  a 
new  batch  of  officers  and  committee  was  drafted  in. 

The  latter  event  was  a  masterpiece  of  intrigue  on 
Coryton's  part.  There  had  been  the  yearly  election 


128  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

already  referred  to,  when  Unkels  was  put  to  confusion, 
with  the  result  that  Coryton  had  been  elected  Vice- 
President,  Funnie-Ffoulkes  Treasurer, Bedlam  Honorary 
Secretary,  and  the  Committee  included  Gates  and  many 
others  of  the  same  kidney.  But  halfway  through  the 
next  term,  Coryton  summoned  a  general  meeting  of 
the  Club  and  proposed  a  re-election  of  officers. 

He  had  secured  the  assent  of  the  "  old  gang  "  by  a 
profusion  of  promises  :  Plantagenet  Unkels  had  act- 
ually been  persuaded  to  believe  that  he  was  to  be 
Vice- President  the  term  after  next ;  Funnie-Ffoulkes 
was  to  be  Vice-President  very  soon:  Bedlam  was  to 
be  Vice-President  next  year  and  Treasurer  as  well  as 
Secretary  in  the  mean  time ;  Gates  was  to  be  Secre- 
tary some  time  or  other  and  new  representatives  of 
"  Cats,"  King's,  and  "  Pots,"  were  to  swamp  the  Com- 
mittee. 

Never  had  there  been  such  reckless  promising,  not 
even  at  a  county  council  election  or  before  a  critical 
division  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Half  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent people  had  been  promised  the  same  office  and — 
such  was  their  vanity  and  credulity — not  one  of  them 
had  a  shadow  of  doubt  about  their  election.  Forbes 
and  Pimlico  gave  a  series  of  bounder  dinner-parties, 
while  Williams  and  Wilmot  put  up  batches  of  impos- 
sible people  for  the  Pitt  Club  and  were  the  first  to 
blackball  them. 

The  result  surpassed  all  expectation,  and  at  the 
general  meeting  not  only  was  the  requisite  two-thirds 
majority  forthcoming  in  favor  of  a  re-election  of 
officers,  but  even  absolute  unanimity.  Then  came  the 
ballot,  when  the  "  new  gang,"  by  enormous  majorities, 
elected  Coryton  Vice-President,  Forbes  Treasurer, 
Pimlico  and  Gaverigan  joint  Honorary  Secretaries. 
The  Committee  also  consisted  exclusively  of  the  "  new 
gang." 

The  "old  gang"  were  effectively  dished  and  were 
only  prevented  from  resigning  in  a  body — which  was 
precisely  desired  of  them — by  a  sense  of  favors  to 
come.  They  thought  to  start  a  club  on  their  own 
account  in  Rose  Crescent,  but  the  numbers  and  energy 
of  its  founders  did  not  suffice  to  attract  attention  in 


THE  TRUMP  CARD.  129 

the  University  or  distinguished  visitors  from  outside. 
So  they  returned  to  their  old  haunts  and  made  them- 
selves a  great  nuisance,  until  Pimlico  devised  a  series 
of  practical  jokes,  which  made  the  place  unbearable 
for  them.  So  they  revenged  themselves  by  coming  to 
the  smart  dinner,  given  by  the  Club  at  the  Lion  Hotel, 
and  hooting  Pimlico  when  he  got  up  to  propose  the 
toast  of  "  The  Ladies." 

The  next  intrigue  concerned  the  entertainment  of 
Lord  Rupert  Cameron,  Lord  Southwark  and  the  other 
guests  who  had  come  up  to  speak  at  a  public  dinner 
in  the  Guildhall.  Plantagenet-Unkels  had  had  the 
inviting  of  Lord  Rupert  and  had  taken  the  opportunity 
of  entangling  him  in  an  invitation  to  lunch  with  him 
at  St.  Jucle's  the  day  after  the  dinner.  Coryton  only 
heard  of  this  at  the  eleventh  hour,  when  he  received 
an  invitation  "  to  meet  Lord  Rupert "  from  LTnkels, 
who  had  remembered  that  it  would  "  look  funny "  if 
the  officers  of  the  club  were  absent.  Coryton  pulled 
a  long  face  when  he  read  the  note  and  decided  that 
prompt  action  was  imperative. 

Accordingly,  when  Lord  Rupert  arrived  at  the  sta- 
tion, Coryton  arranged,  by  the  diffusion  of  false 
information,  that  he  and  Forbes  should  be  alone  there 
to  receive  him,  and,  as  Lord  Rupert  got  into  the  fly 
that  had  been  chartered  for  him,  Coryton  said  quietly, 

"  You  were  so  kind  as  to  hold  out  hopes  that  you 
would  come,  and  lunch  with  me  next  Sunday." 

Lord  Rupert,  who  of  course  had  not  a  notion  who 
was  who,  acquiesced  at  once  and  Coryton  slipped  a 
card  into  his  hand  to  remind  him — not  only,  as  he  said, 
of  his  address — but  also  of  his  name. 

At  the  Guildhall  dinner  Lord  Rupert  told  Coryton 
that  he  had  received  a  note  from  a  Mr.  TJnkels,  recall- 
ing a  promise  to  lunch  with  him,  and  that  he  feared  he 
would  have  to  go  there,  but  Coryton  replied,  with  the 
calmest  assurance  possible,  that  he  had  arranged  it  all 
with  Unkels  and  had  invited  him  to  meet  Lord  Rupert 
at  luncheon.  It  seemed  most  natural  that  the  Vice- 
President  of  the  Club  should  be  the  entertainer,  and  it 
never  of  course  occurred  to  Lord  Rupert  not  to  accept 
the  arrangement. 
9 


130  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

The  dinner  was  a  great  success  from  everybody's 
point  of  view  :  from  Lord  Rupert's,  for  he  delivered  a 
rattling  presidential  address,  which  aroused  much  con- 
troversy in  the  papers  and  ended  by  strengthening  his 
precarious  position  in  the  Conservative  party;  from 
Lord  South wark's,  who  replied  for  the  House  of  Lords ; 
from  Coryton's,  for  many  laudatory  things  were  said 
about  him  by  a  small  galaxy  of  statesmen ;  and  even 
from  Unkels's,  for  Coryton  had  the  assurance  to  intro- 
duce him  to  Lord  Rupert  as  "  one  of  the  most  ardent 
Tories  in  the  University." 

Gaverigan,  who  wound  up  the  toast-list  with  "  The 
health  of  the  President,"  was  also  gratified  with  some 
pointed  compliments. 

"  I  wish  to  mention  the  very  great  pleasure  with 
which  I  heard  the  gentleman  who  proposed  the  toast, 
address  a  public  meeting,"  said  Lord  Rupert,  when  he 
returned  thanks ;  "  he  is  a  nephew  of  one  of  my  best 
and  oldest  friends  in  the  House  of  Commons  (I  am 
sorry  to  say  he  belongs  to  the  Liberal  party),  Mr.  Hol- 

loway  Pother Mr.  Gaverigan  has  eschewed 

the  avuncular  heresies  and  walks  steadfastly  and  lively 
in  the  true  political  faith." 

The  luncheon  next  day  was  also  a  great  success,  ex- 
cept from  Mr.  Unkels's  point  of  view.  That  individual 
had  ordered  in  enough  provisions  to  stock  a  caravan, 
and  the  tables  groaned  with  gooseberry  champagne 
and  the  sort  of  food  which  Unkels  associated  with 
luxury.  He  had  sent  forth  invitations  to  the  highways 
and  hedges  of  the  'Varsity  to  compel  men  to  come  in 
"  to  meet  Lord  Rupert  Cameron." 

There  they  were,  hungry  and  expectant,  waiting. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  half  an  hour,  three  quar- 
ters, yet  still  he  came  not.  Their  servile  instincts 
wrestled  with  the  cravings  of  the  inner  man,  and  it  was 
only  when  three  o'clock  struck  that  they  gave  up  all 
hope  and  sat  down,  sulky  and  ravenous,  to  gobble  up  in 
silence  the  good  things  that  had  been  provided  for  them. 

Meanwhile  a  very  pleasant  party  was  discussing  a 
simple  but  well-chosen  luncheon  in  Coryton's  rooms 
on  the  King's  Parade.  Lord  Rupert  Cameron  and 
Lord  Southwark  sat  on  either  side  of  the  host.  Mr. 


THE  TRUMP  CARD.  131 

Toadey- Simile,  member  of  one  of  the  county  divisions, 
was  at  the  other  end  of  the  table.  Undergraduate 
Toryism  was  represented  by  Forbes,  von  Kaggedback, 
Gaverigan,  Pimlico,  Williams  and  Wilmot,  while 
Austen  Marshall  came  as  the  show  undergraduate  on 
the  other  side,  Drake  and  MacRonald  under  the  mis- 
taken impression  that  they  would  make  brilliant  con- 
versation. 

"  I  wonder  you  made  such  polite  references  to  Sir 
William  Falstaff,"  said  Gaverigan  to  Lord  Rupert, 
while  they  were  discussing  the  previous  night's 
speeches. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  laughed,  "  Falstaff  and  I  have  had 
some  sharp  passages-at-arms.  I  remember  once  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  when  I  had  irritated  him 
beyond  endurance,  he  leaned  forward  and  called  out  to 
me  across  the  floor  of  the  House,  '  You  little  ass,'  in  a 
stage  whisper  that  everybody  must  have  heard." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  ?" 

"  Oh !  "  he  answered  roguishly,  "  I  just  shouted  out 
to  him  '  You  are  a  d — d  fool,'  twice  as  loud  again. 
I  shall  never  forget  his  expression  of  amazement  and 
indignation  when  I  said  it.  He  got  up  two  or  three 
times  to  call  the  Speaker's  attention  to  the  expression, 
but  each  time  his  heart  misgave  him,  as  he  remembered 
his  own  share  in  the  controversy.  The  Speaker 
remarked  afterwards  that  this  was  the  most  summary 
way  of  carrying  on  a  debate  that  it  had  ever  been  his  lot 
to  witness." 

This  led  to  a  number  of  House  of  Commons  anec- 
dotes, which  Lord  Southwark  capped  with  experiences 
of  the  House  of  Lords.  They  fell  to  discussing  the 
mannerisms  of  Disraeli  in  both  places.  Mr.  Toadey- 
Snaile,  who  was  a  notorious  liar,  said  he  had  once  seen 
him  so  far  gone,  after  he  had  been  rather  more  than 
dining,  that  all  he  could  do  was  to  wave  his  arms  and 
cry  "  British  Constitution !  " 

Lord  Rupert  thereupon  gave  a  story  about  a  bom- 
bastic speech  made  by  Disraeli  in  a  mellowed  condition 
being  followed  by  a  sneer  from  Mr.  Gladstone  about 
"  the  sources  from  which  the  right  hon.  gentleman  has 
evidently  drawn  his  inspirations." 


132  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  This,"  he  added,  "  the  House  would  not  stand  at 
all,  but  groaned  in  disapproval.  The  fact  is,  even  in 
its  most  democratic  intervals,  there  is  no  body  of 
men  so  conservative  in  habits  or  so  tenacious  of 
tradition  as  the"  House  of  Commons.  It  has  its  own 
peculiar  code  of  morals  and,  while  very  lenient  towards 
a  good  old-fashioned  vice,  like  drunkenness,  will  not 
stand  anything  approaching  bad  taste  or  bad  faith. 
For  instance,  if  a  man  is  once  detected  trying  to  hocus 
the  House  with  a  garbled  quotation,  he  will  never  be 
listened  to  again." 

"  How  do  you  prepare  your  speeches,  Lord  Rupert  ?  " 
asked  Forbes  suddenly,  apropos  of  nothing  in  par- 
ticular. 

Everybody  laughed. 

"  Forbes  is  a  great  authority  on  speechifying,"  put 
in  Coryton  parenthetically,  "  he  once  made  an  oration 
in  the  market-place  and  compared  the  British  Consti- 
tution to  a  sack  of  wheat." 

"  That's  better  than  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle's  com- 
parison of  it  to  a  rocket,  at  any  rate,"  put  in  Toadey- 
Snaile. 

"  When  I  first  started  making  speeches,  which,  by 
the  way,  isn't  so  very  long  ago,"  Lord  Rupert  went 
on,  "I  used  to  write  the  whole  thing  out  and  learn 
it  word  for  word.  Now,  if  I  have  time  to  jot  down  a 
few  rough  notes  and  think  out  what  line  I  intend  to 
pursue,  I  count  myself  lucky.  Very  often  I  have  to 
make  a  speech  straight  away  without  any  opportunity 
for  preparation.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  practice, — like 
playing  the  banjo." 

"Talking  of  old  Gladstone,"  said  Toadey-Snaile — 
nobody  had  been  talking  of  the  man  for  at  least  ten 
minutes,  but  that  did  not  matter, — "Talking  of  old 
Gladstone,  what's  all  this  about  his  planting  a  tree  at 
Newnham  and  somebody  cutting  it  do\vn  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,"  returned  Coryton ;  "  but  the  old 
man's  admirers  are  frantic.  They  have  employed  pri- 
vate detectives  and  threatened  prosecutions  for  bur- 
glary. But  all  in  vain.  They  say  it  was  done  by  a 
Primrose  dame  among  the  Newnhamites." 

"  I  believe  you  did  it,  Cameron,"  laughed  Lord  South- 


THE  TRUMP  CARD.  133 

wark,  "  or,  if  you  didn't,  it's  a  very  queer  coincidence. 
Do  you  remember  the  Dean's  garden  at  Merton?" 

"  I  should  rather  think  I  do." 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  everybody  asked. 

"Oh!  nothing  much,"  Lord  Rupert  returned,  "it 
was  only  my  Dean.  I  was  always  in  hot  water  with 
the  dons  when  I  was  at  Oxford,  but  I  had  special  dif- 
ficulties with  my  Dean,  until  he  became  quite  unbear- 
able. However,  I  found  out  that  he  had  a  mania  for 
horticulture  and  treasured  the  contents  of  his  strange 
little  garden  more  than  the  apple  of  his  eye.  It  had  a 
horribly  high  wall,  but  I  managed  to  scramble  over  one 
night,  though  I  cut  my  hand  rather  badly  with  some 
broken  bottles  at  the  top.  You  bet  I  wasn't  long  in 
turning  the  place  into  a  wilderness.  I  would  have 
given  a  fortune  to  see  my  Dean's  face  next  morning, 
when  he  looked  out  and  found  every  pane  of  glass 
smashed  and  every  growing  thing  uprooted.  But  I 
didn't  pull  down  the  Gladstone  tree  of  liberty,  'pon  my 
word." 

"I  am  sure  this  is  quite  a  new  thing,"  remarked 
Lord  Southwark  sententiously,  "  having  political  clubs 
at  the  Universities.  There  was  nothing  like  it  in  my 
day — at  least  not  to  this  extent." 

"It's  a  very  good  thing  anyhow,"  returned  Lord 
Rupert.  "  I  wish  I  had  gone  in  for  politics  when  I 
was  their  age.  But  I'm  afraid  I  used  to  think  more 
of  huntin'  and  racin'  in  those  days  than  of  the  affairs 
of  the  nation." 

"  Huntin' ! "  grunted  Toadey-Snaile,  "  there  can't  be 
much  in  the  way  of  huntin'  at  Oxford.  The  Old  Berk- 
shire,— what  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Old  Berkshire,"  and  Lord  Rupert  laughed 
over  a  reminiscence ;  "  a  crusty  old  beggar  we  had  for 
master,  by  Jove!"  he  went  on.  "Swore  at  me  like  a 
trooper  once  before  the  whole  field,  because  he  had 
run  into  me,  as  far  as  I  could  make  out.  However,  I 
said  nothing,  but  just  bided  my  time,  that  is  to  say 
till  the  hunt  dinner  at  the  end  of  term.  I  was  down 
to  propose  the  toast  of  '  Sport '  and  I  felt  that  the  Lord 
had  delivered  mine  enemy  into  my  hand.  'I  have 
always  been  fond  of  sport,'  I  said  benevolently,  '  sport 


134  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

of  all  kinds.  I  like  huntiu'  and  fishin'  and  shootin' 
and  I  take  an  interest  in  racin'  and  athletics.  More- 
over, when  I  can't  get  the  higher  forms  of  sport,  I  don't 
disdain  humbler  amusements,  but  find  a  certain  enjoy- 
ment in  ferretin',  cock-fightin',  or  even,' — I  wound  up 
in  my  most  lugubrious  accents,  'if  the  worst  conies  to 
the  worst,  and  there  is  absolutely  nothin'  else  to  be 
done, — a  day  with  the  Old  Berkshire  hounds  ! '  Every- 
body said  I  had  scored  and  the  old  rascal  never  for- 
gave me." 

"  I  suppose  your  clubs  here  hold  very  advanced 
views,"  Lord  Southwark  asked  Coryton  with  bored 
politeness.  He  had  heard  all  these  anecdotes  before. 

"  Very  sound  views,"  Lord  Rupert  replied  for  him. 
"  They  have  been  supporters  of  mine  ever  since  I 
formed  the  Tenth  Party.  This  is  quite  a  hot-bed  of 
Tory-Democracy,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It  is  a  sign  of  the 
times  and  of  happy  augury  for  the  future,"  replied 
Lord  Southwark,  beaming  on  Pimlico,  who  was  half 
asleep. 

"  The  youth  of  a  nation  are  the  trustees  of  posterity," 
quoted  Gaverigan  with  mock  solemnity. 

"  I  suppose  so, — provided  they  are  nourished  upon 
Disraeli's  novels,"  returned  Lord  Southwark  in  the 
same  tone. 

"  Was  Disraeli  a  Tory-Democrat  ?  "  Marshall  asked 
MacRonald  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"Undoubtedly,"  interposed  Lord  Rupert,  "he  was 
the  first  Tory-Democrat." 

"  The  antithesis,  I  suppose,"  said  Marshall  quietly, 
"  of  that  other  personage,  who  has  been  styled  the  first 
Whig!" 

As  soon  as  lunch  was  over,  they  adjourned  to  the 
rooms  downstairs,  where  Lord  Rupert  sat  in  an  arm- 
chair evolving  countless  anecdotes  and  smoking  count- 
less cigarettes.  He  had  a  long  black  amber  holder, 
with  his  initials  on  it  in  blue  garnets,  and  as  soon  as 
one  cigarette  was  finished,  he  lighted  another,  con- 
suming them  very  rapidly.  The  rest  of  the  party 
sat  around,  watching  him  open-mouthed  and  drinking 
in  all  his  narrations.  They  were  all  about  himself, 


THE  TRUMP  CARD.  1B5 

but  that  was  a  subject  which  interested  his  hearers. 
Drake  and  MacRonald,  who  had  been  imported  as 
specimens  of  University  wit,  scarcely  opened  their 
mouths  all  the  afternoon.  They  sat  in  a  corner,  stolidly 
smoking  long  cigars.  Even  Williams  and  Wilmot 
were  more  loquacious. 

Lord  South wark  went  off  with  Pimlico  to  talk  over 
his  "little  bills"  and  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile  soon  dis- 
covered that  he  wanted  to  make  some  calls  on  sundry 
musty  dons,  but  Lord  Rupert  remained  on  till  nearly 
five,  chatting  away  and  taking  great  pains  to  be  agree- 
able. When  at  last  he  tore  himself  away  and  Coryton 
came  down  with  him  to  the  door,  he  repeated  his  as- 
surances of  satisfaction  and  good- will. 

"  I  think  you  spoke  very  well  indeed  last  night,"  he 
said  kindly,  as  they  parted.  "You  have  a  great 
gift  of  fluency  and  you  arrange  your  arguments 
admirably.  We  must  see  if  we  can't  get  you  into  the 
House  presently.  Come  and  see  me  when  you  are  hi 
town." 

It  was  Coryton's  last  term  at  Cambridge  and  he  felt 
that  these  last  triumphs  had  appropriately  wound  up 
the  long  series  of  successes,  which  he  owed  to  his  own 
energies.  Lord  Southwark  as  well  as  Lord  Rupert  had 
expressed  a  desire  to  see  him  again,  and  he  meant  to 
take  good  care  that  neither  should  forget  it.  As  he 
packed  up  to  repair  to  Lord  Baltinglass'  place,  where 
Tyrconnel  had  been  languishing  ever  since  his  banish- 
ment from  Cambridge  the  previous  term,  he  flattered 
himself  that  he  had  already  got  his  foot  on  a  rung  of 
the  political  ladder  and  that  was  more  than  most 
young  men  had  done  before  they  went  down  from 
Cambridge. 

The  thought  of  his  father  came  over  him.  Poor 
old  chap !  He  had  not  much  to  thank  him  for,  but  he 
had  at  any  rate  received  from  him  a  legacy  of  good 
advice.  People  are  apt  to  sneer  at  good  advice  and  say 
it  costs  nothing.  As  well  might  they  say  that  the  hasty 
masterpiece  of  the  artist  or  poet  costs  nothing.  Good 
advice  is  the  potted  meat  of  experience.  And  Spencer 
Coryton  gave  his  son  good  advice  when  he  said, 
"  Remember  always  that  your  best  friend  is  yourself." 


136  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    CITY    OF    LES    DOULEURS. 

Lasciate  oyrii  speranza 

Voi  ch'entrate — DANTE,  "  INFEKKO." 

Les  Doideurs,  "  the  City  of  Charlemagne  "  or,  as  the 
Pope  has  termed  it,  "  the  City  of  the  Saints  " — though 
to  the  lay  mind  it  would  rather  seem  the  City  of  the 
Sinners,  and  withal  miserable  sinners — looked  very 
bright  one  morning  in  mid-July.  It  was  early  morn- 
ing. There  was  just  that  touch  of  freshness  in  the  air, 
which  dies  as  the  day  wears  on,  and  the  dew  was  yet 
wet  on  the  grass.  The  band  was  playing  away  merrily 
in  the  Kiosk,  and  the  shady  little  Flisen  Garden — the 
spot  where  visitors  most  do  congregate — was  thronged 
with  Cure-guests,  who  had  risen  betimes  to  drink  in 
draughts  of  health  from  the  healing  springs. 

It  was  a  motley  crowd  of  half  the  peoples,  nations, 
and  languages  under  heaven.  Russians,  Germans, 
Dutch,  French,  Americans,  English,  Belgians,  all 
jostled  one  against  another  as  they  ascended  and 
descended  the  steep  stone  steps  which  led  totheElisen 
brunnen — all  clamoring  for  their  water  and  taxing  to 
their  utmost  the  energies  of  the  blue-eyed  maiden, 
who  was  the  presiding  genius  of  these  sulphurous 
libations. 

If  one  wished  to  study  types,  one  could  hardly  do 
better  than  go  to  the  Elisen  Garden  on  this  fine  morn- 
ing. There  was  an  English  Duchess,  who  (as  she  ex- 
plained to  an  acquaintance  who  had  turned  up  unex- 
pectedly) had  been  sent  by  her  doctor  to  Aix-les-Bains, 
but  came  here  by  mistake.  Why  she  did  not  remedy 
the  error  by  packing  up  and  departing  by  the  next 
train,  it  is  not  easy  to  see.  There  was  a  thick-lipped 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEUBS.  137 

Russian  Prince  who,  rumor  said,  had  incurred  the  dis- 
pleasure of  his  Imperial  Master,  and  was,  apparently, 
whiling  away  his  banishment  by  coming  here,  to  dip 
and  be  clean,  like  Naaman  of  old  in  Jordan.  There 
was  a  besotted  English  peer,  whose  name  was  a  bye- 
word  at  Tattersall's,  accompanied  by  a  muscular  music- 
hall  artiste  more  famous  for  her  fists  than  her  vocal 
powers.  They  were  passing  themselves  off,  these  two, 
as  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  "  and  were  fondly  deluding 
themselves  that  the  incognito  was  respected.  There 
was  a  colonial  Archdeacon,  who  buttonholed  every  one 
to  explain  that  he  was  here  for  his  rheumatism,  as 
though  any  one  cared  whether  he  had  rheumatism  or 
not.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  of  young  Englishmen 
— in  the  Service  for  the  most  part — from  Henrion's  and 
Dremel's  Hotels,  and  there  was  a  prize-fighter  and  a 
third-rate  Gaiety  actress.  Altogether  it  was  a  remark- 
able variety-show,  and  differed  from  other  watering- 
places  in  Europe  mainly  in  two  respects — the  scarcity 
of  its  old  women  and  the  number  of  its  young  men. 

Two  of  these  young  men,  Englishmen  obviously,  were 
pacing  round  the  shingly  path  of  the  Elisen  Garden, 
keeping  unconscious  time  with  the  music  of  the  band. 
One  of  them,  a  good-looking  youth  with  a  dark  clear- 
cut  face,  was  carefully  dressed  in  a  suit  of  fresh,  neat 
flannels,  with  the  regulation  brown-leather  boots  and 
cool  straw  hat.  He  walked  along  with  an  easy  step, 
the  embodiment  of  superb  health  and  careful  grooming ; 
he  looked  as  if  he  had  never  known  a  care.  His  com- 
panion had  a  dejected  appearance  and  a  lack-lustre  eye ; 
his  clothes  were  loosely  huddled  on  as  though  he  had 
jumped  out  of  bed  in  a  hurry,  and  was  not  quite  awake 
even  now.  His  face  was  unshaven,  and  altogether  he 
had  a  very  washed-out  appearance.  In  his  hand  he 
carried  a  glass  of  tepid  water,  which  he  sipped  every 
now  and  then  with  an  expression  of  intense  disgust. 

"  This  is  the  third  glass  of  this  beastly  stuff  I  have 
got  down,"  he  exclaimed  presently.  "  One  more  yet 
— '  must  have  four,'  the  doctor  says.  Ugh  !  I  wish 
he  had  to  drink  it  himself,  and  then  perhaps  he  wouldn't 
be  so  free  with  prescribing  it  to  other  people." 

"  Considering  you  have  come  all  this  way  for  the 


138  TIIE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

purpose,  it  would  be  rather  a  disappointment  if  he 
didn't  dose  you,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  asked  Coryton,  switch- 
ing at  a  lime  leaf  with  his  cane. 

"  It's  a  beastly  hole  to  come  to  anyway,"  growled 
Tyrconnel.  "  Let  me  see,  how  long  have  we  been  here, 
Corry  ?  Three  weeks,  I  think.  It  will  be  my  twenty- 
iirst  bath  to-day.  It  must  be  jolly  slow  for  you,  old 
chap,  with  no  cure  to  fill  up  the  time." 

"  Thanks — very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  I  am 
sure,"  replied  the  other  with  a  curious  smile,  "  but  I 
think  on  the  whole  I  prefer  my  leisure  and  am  content 
to  leave  you  the  cure." 

"  Well,  it's  awfully  good  of  you  to  have  come  with 
me.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without 
you — committed  suicide  I  think  in  very  melancholy 
madness.  You  are  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world. 
No  other  fellow  would  have  stood  by  me  as  you  have 
done  and  followed  me  to  this  infernal  hole — " 

"  I  would  do  anything  for  you,  Tyrconnel,  you  know 
that — go  through  fire  and  water  if  need  be." ' 

This  is  a  sort  of  acrobatic  performance,  which  is 
always  being  volunteered  by  people  who  would  hesi- 
tate to  lend  one  a  ten-pound  note ;  Tyrconnel  did 
not  know  that.  Just  now  he  believed  in  Coryton 
more  than  ever.  Had  he  not  stood  up  for  him  against 
his  father,  had  he  not  thrown  up  a  yachting  trip  to 
join  him  here  ?  True,  the  yachting  trip  was  some- 
what in  nubibus,  and  Coryton  was  quartered  for  six 
weeks  in  one  of  the  best  hotels  with  all  expenses 
paid,  and  handsome  baksheesh  in  his  pocket  from  Lord 
Baltinglass  of  Blarney  besides,  as  a  small  return  for 
all  the  wise  counsel  and  good  advice  he  had  given  to 
his  prodigal  son. 

"  That  is  a  very  clever  young  fellow, — a  man 
who'll  make  a  name  in  the  world,  you  mark  my 
words  if  he  doesn't.  Just  the  sort  of  friend  Wilfrid 
should  have,"  remarked  Lord  Baltinglass  one  even- 
ing after  dinner  to  his  elderly  maiden  sister,  who 
presided  over  his  house — or  rather  houses — for  him. 
Coryton  had  sat  at  his  feet  all  the  evening,  applauding 
his  opinions,  laughing  at  his  jokes,  treating  him  with 
an  exquisite  deference,  which  insinuated  that  it  was  on 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEUES,  139 

Baltinglass,  and  Baltinglass  alone,  that  the  future  of 
the  House  of  Lords  and  the  consequent  safety  of  the 
Empire  depended. 

Lord  Baltinglass's  sister,  Miss  Kezia  Tyrconnel, 
nee  Simpson,  a  lady  of  evangelical  views,  with  whom 
Coryton  had  discussed  the  future  of  Protestantism  in 
the  Church  of  England  in  the  interval  after  tea,  entirely 
agreed. 

"Ah !  If  Wilfrid  were  only  more  like  him  !  Young 
men  are  so  careless  about  religion  nowadays,"  she 
sighed,  shaking  her  ringlets.  "By  the  way  have  you 
noticed,  Baltinglass,  how  ill  Wilfrid  is  looking  ?  And 
his  cough  troubles  him  a  good  deal  too.  I  am  afraid 
he  is  going  just  like  his  poor  dear  mother." 

Miss  Tyrconnel  sighed  again.  She  was  given  to 
gloomy  forebodings.  She  called  it  "  going  to  the  bottom 
of  things." 

"  Dear  me,"  cried  Lord  Baltinglass  in  alarm.  "  You 
don't  say  so." 

This  allusion  to  his  wife's  decease  frightened  him. 
He  remembered  how  she  had  pined  away  amid  her  un- 
congenial surroundings,  a  prey  to  an  insidious  disease. 
Consumptive  tendencies  were  hereditary  to  the  Tyr- 
connel family. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  "  he  asked  blankly. 

"  I  have  already  asked  the  Reverend  Fyre  Irons  to 
offer  supplication  for  him  to  the  Throne  of  Grace," 
replied  Miss  Tyrconnel  piously,  "  and  I  need  scarcely 
say  that  I  too  supplicate  both  night  and  morning." 

She  folded  her  hands  and  cast  her  eyes  upward  with 
the  air  of  one  who  would  say,  "  What  can  poor  mortal 
do  more  ?  " 

Lord  Baltinglass  gave  an  impatient  snort. 

"  He  must  consult  Dr.  Doublefee  without  delay,"  he 
said. 

So  Dr.  Doublefee  was  consulted,  and  the  upshot  was 
that  that  eminent  physician  advised  a  course  of  the 
waters  of  Les  Douleurs.  It  was  Coryton  who  travelled 
up  to  town  with  his  friend  and  penetrated  with  him 
into  Doublefee's  Holy  of  Holies.  It  was  Coryton  who 
suggested  that  Wilfrid  should  not  go  alone  to  a  foreign 
land.  It  was  Coryton  who  slipped  into  his  waistcoat 


140  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

pocket,  after  many  protests,  the  handsome  check  of  a 
grateful  parent. 

Such  touching  devotion  almost  made  Miss  Tyrconnel 
shed  tears. 

"  It  quite  reminds  me  of  David  and  Jonathan,"  she 
whimpered  at  parting,  "  or  those  two  heathen  creatures 
—I  quite  forget  their  names — one  used  to  read  about 
them  in  Miss  Medgeworth's  Mythology  revised  for 
family  and  domestic  reading." 

"  JSTisus  and  Euryalus,"  suggested  Coryton. 

Miss  Tyrconnel  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  tugging 
something  from  her  pocket. 

"Dear  Mr.  Coryton,"  she  said,  "you  must  accept 
this  little  gift  from  me — oh  yes,  you  really  must — in 
memory  of  our  many  solemn  talks  on  holy  things." 

Coryton  took  the  little  package.  Could  it  be  Bank 
notes  ?  It  felt  soft.  There  was  no  time  to  examine 
it  closely  then.  But  when  later  on  in  the  train  he 
opened  it  to  find  nothing  but  a  morocco  bound  edition 
of  "  Saved  from  the  Pit,  or  The  Sinner's  Refuge,"  he 
threw  it  out  of  the  window  with  an  oath  which  would 
have  made  the  estimable  giver's  ringlets  stand  forth 
like  "the  quills  of  the  fretful  porcupine,"  could  she 
have  heard  it. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  shall  hold  out  for  the  six 
weeks.  I  feel  awfully  bad  already,"  resumed  Tyrconnel 
presently,  as  he  tackled  his  fourth  glass  of  water.  "  I 
can  eat  nothing." 

"  Well  you  must  take  a  turn  on  omelettes,  like  the 
other  fellows,"  said  Coryton  consolingly.  "  They  cook 
an  omelette  better  than  anything  else  here,  and  they 
ought  to  do  so,  considering  what  a  run  there  is  on 
them.  Cheer  up,  old  chap,  '  it  might  be  worse,'  as  a 
man  once  remarked  who  looked  into  Hades  and  saw 
the  devil  carrying  off  his  friend." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  how  it  could  be  worse  than  that," 
said  the  other  ruefully. 

"Well,  his  friend  might  have  had  to  carry  the 
devil,"  rejoined  Coryton  drily.  "But  let  us  turn 
round  the  other  way,  here's  Wrigglesworth  bearing 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEURS.  141 

down  upon  us.    You  don't  want  to  know  him,  I  think 
you  said." 

"  No,  he's  such  a  malicious  old  brute,  he  abuses 
every  one." 

"  Well  there  is  no  advantage  in  not  knowing  him, 
so  far  as  that  is  concerned,  for  he  abuses  a  stranger 
just  as  much  as  a  friend — the  only  difference  is  that 
he  draws  on  his  imagination  a  little  more.  However, 
we  are  safe  from  him  now,  he  has  swooped  down 
upon  the  Archdeaconess,  who  is  perched  as  usual  on 
her  little  seat  in  the  corner.  Poor  woman!  I  pity 
her.  Let  us  go  a  little  nearer  the  band.  I  want  to 
hear  this  Brahni's  Z,iebes  Zieder  Waltz.  .  .  .  By  Jove! 
Pigeon,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  catching  his  friend  by 
the  arm,  "do  you  see  who  is  coming  along?  Sally 
Popkins  !  By  all  that's  wonderful — " 

Sally  it  was  beyond  a  doubt  wearing  an  innocent 
white  gown  and  sailor  hat,  with  a  red  parasol  in  her 
hand,  tripping  straight  towards  them  smiling  as  the 
morn.  Tyrconnel  flushed  hotly  and  would  have 
turned  aside,  but  before  he  could  do  so,  Sally  was 
upon  them. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  she  exclaimed,  twirling  her  para- 
sol round  like  a  vast  butterfly,  "who  would  have 
thought  of  meeting  you  here?  How  are  you,  Mr. 
Coryton  ?  No  need  to  ask.  And  you,  Mr.  Tyrconnel  ? 
Pretty  fit,  I  hope.  Surely  you  haven't  forgotten  me. 
What,  not  very  well  ?  I  am  so  sorry.  You  do  look 
rather  sorry  for  yourself,  I  must  say." 

"  The  morning  light  is  trying  even  to  the  best  com- 
plexions, Miss  Popkins,"  interposed  Coryton.  "What 
brings  you  here,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Rheumatism  of  course,"  cried  Sally  with  a  rippling 
laugh.  "  I  was  sent  to  Aix-les-Bains  and  came  to  this 
place  by  mistake — that's  the  thing  to  say,  I  hear.  No, 
the  fact  was  I  came  over  to  see  a  friend  of  mine, 
Pussie  Prancewell.  She  used  to  dance  at  the  Gaiety, 
you  know — I  wanted  a  little  holiday  and  thought  I 
might  as  well  come  here.  Do  you  know  Pussie? 
She's  great  fun." 

"  I  believe  I  saw  her  taking  the  dust  on  the  road 
beyond  Burtscheid  yesterday,"  said  Coryton. 


142  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

"It  doesn't  seem  a  bad  sort  of  place,"  said  Sally, 
twirling  her  parasol  and  glancing  coyly  at  the  Russian 
Prince.  "I  am  told  it's  poor  fun  to  come  here,  but 
people  seem  to  enjoy  themselves  anyway." 

"What  would  you  have  them  do?"  queried  Cory- 
ton  with  an  amused  smile.  "  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
'  Happiness  in  Hell,'  some  people  say.  What — going, 
Tyrconnel?  Well,  I  must  be  going  too.  Ta-ta,  Miss 
Popkins,  see  you  later,  I  hope " 

"  Why  are  you  so  glum,  old  chap  ?  "  he  asked  of  Tyr- 
connel presently,  as  they  walked  together  down  the 
narrow  uneven  pavement  of  the  Bilchel  on  the  way 
back  to  Dubigk's  Hotel,  "aren't  you  pleased  to  see 
Sally  ?  " 

"Pleased!"  echoed  the  other  indignantly.  "How 
can  you  ask  me  ?  Doesn't  it  remind  me  of  the  most 
discreditable  incident  of  my  life  ?  Corry,  I  feel  that 
that  woman  is  my  evil  genius — a  sort  of  Circe,  who 
turns  all  who  come  near  her  into  swine.  She  is  to  me 
the  embodiment  of  the  lowest  part  of  one's  nature. 
You  needn't  sneer,  I  mean  it." 

"  We  all  mean  these  admirable  sentiments — the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  If  we  only  acted  upon  them  in 
the  evening,  what  a  different  world  it  would  be.  Don't 
turn  away  from  me,  old  chap.  I  was  only  joking. 
You  know  that.  I  can't  cure  myself  of  the  habit. 
But,  joking  apart,  though,  I  think  you  take  matters 
too  seriously.  We  all  have  our  own  little  peccadilloes. 
Even  St.  Augustine  was  a  rake  in  his  youth — that  is 
why  he  became  a  saint  later,  I  suppose.  But  as  to 
poor  little  Sally,  you  are  too  hard  on  her,  'pon  my  word. 
She  is  just  like  all  the  rest  of  her  kind,  neither  better 
nor  worse — rather  better,  for  she  is  distinctly  amusing, 
which  is  something  in  a  world  made  up  for  the  most 
part  of  the  bores  and  the  bored.  Altogether,  I  am  not 
sorry  she  has  turned  up.  She  will  help  us  to  pass  the 
time  here  and  we  can  have  some  fun  together.  Won't 
we?" 

"  No,"  said  Tyrconnel  doggedly,  "  I  won't.  No  more 
paltering  with  temptation  for  me." 

Cory  ton  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  They  were  under 
the  colonnade  of  the  Kurhaus  now,  just  turning  into 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEURS.  143 

the  hotel.  The  shadow  was  so  great  he  could  scarcely 
see  his  companion's  face,  which  was  bent  towards  the 
ground.  But  he  saw  that  the  usually  mobile  lips 
were  close  shut.  It  would  not  do  to  press  him  further. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  real  feeling, 
linking  his  arm  in  his.  "  You  are  perfectly  right,  it 
will  be  best  for  you  to  give  the  siren  a  wide  berth. 
We  will  say  no  more  about  it.  Come  and  let  us  have 
our  breakfast  out  in  the  garden  ;  the  letters  must  have 
come  by  now." 

They  took  their  breakfast,  a  frugal  meal  after  the 
manner  of  German  breakfasts — just  a  trout,  fragrant 
coffee,  crisp  fresh  rolls,  and  golden  honey — on  the  vine- 
clad  balcony  which  overlooks  the  quaint  old  garden  of 
Dubigk's  delightful  hotel.  Conversation  languished 
somewhat,  as  it  is  apt  to  do  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing, especially  with  people  who  have  reached  a  stage 
of  intimacy,  which  renders  it  unnecessary.  The  head 
waiter  came  presently  with  a  bundle  of  newspapers 
and  letters.  Coryton's  were  soon  disposed  of ;  they 
were  bills  and  duns  principally,  forwarded  from  his 
Jermyn  Street  lodgings  ;  one  a  County  Court  summons 
inclosed  in  a  registered  letter,  a  new  form  of  torture 
invented  to  plague  unfortunate  debtors.  He  smiled 
grimly  and  tore  it  into  little  shreds,  making  a  little 
orange-hued  heap  on  his  plate. 

"  Well  I  am  out  of  the  way  over  here  at  any  rate," 
he  thought  to  himself. 

Then  he  scanned  the  "Fashionable  Intelligence" 
column  in  yesterday's  morning  paper,  chiefly  so  called 
because  it  contains  intelligence  about  people  who  are 
not  fashionable,  but  who  cheerfully  pay  their  guinea  a 
line  to  be  thought  so  by  suburban  acquaintance  and 
country  cousins.  Beyond  an  announcement  that  a 
marriage  was  arranged  between  Mr.  Plantagenet- 
Unkels  of  Kensington-beyond-Jordan  and  Miss  Verity 
of  Bayswater-by-Whiteley,  it  contained  nothing  which 
had  even  the  faintest  semblance  of  interest  to  him.  So 
he  looked  idly  across  at  his  companion. 

Tyrconnel's  under-lip  was  quivering  and  his  eyes 
were  big  with  suspicious  moisture.  He  was  reading 
over,  for  the  third  or  fourth  time,  a  letter  of  several 


144  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

sheets  written  in  a  thin,  firm  handwriting.  Coryton's 
brow  contracted  a  little,  as  he  recognized  the  hand- 
writing. It  was  Gwendolen's. 

Tyrconnel  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"  It  is  a  letter  from  Gwendolen,"  he  faltered.  "  I 
couldn't  help  it,  Corry.  I  felt  so  wretched  and  miser- 
able. I  was  obliged  to  write  to  her  and  she — has  an- 
swered. What  a  brute  I  feel!  I  have  broken  her 
heart." 

"  Hearts,  which  break,  break  in  silence,"  said  Cory- 
ton  with  a  thin  vein  of  contempt  in  his  voice.  "  They 
do  not  relieve  themselves  on  six  closely  written  pages 
of  foreign  note." 

"  I  do  not  mean  that,"  cried  the  other  indignantly. 
"  Gwen  is  far  too  noble-minded  to  speak  of  her  own 
sufferings,  but  one  can  read  between  the  lines.  Not 
a  word  of  reproach  for  all  I  have  done — not  one  word ! 
Do  you  think  she  will  ever  take  me  back  again  ?  " 

Coryton  took  a  cigarette  from  his  case  before  reply- 
ing. He  lit  it  and  looked  across  at  Herr  Henrion's 
pigeons  sunning  themselves  on  the  red-tiled  roof.  He 
seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"  Do  you?"  persisted  Tyrconnel. 

Coryton  blew  a  thin  cloud  of  blue  smoke  into  the 
summer  air.  From  the  other  side  of  the  court,  he 
could  hear  Miss  Gussie  Gutter,  the  music-hall  singer, 
croaking  out  the  fragment  of  a  familiar  melody,  as  she 
made  ready  for  her  bath. 

"  Oh!  what  a  difference  in  the  morning! 
What  an  alteration  in  the  dawning! ' 

He  waited  until  the  verse  was  finished  before  reply- 
ing. Then  he  said  in  his  blandest  accents, 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  can  I  possibly  answer  for  a 
girl  like  Gwendolen  Haviland  ?  She  and  I  approach 
everything  from  a  different  point  of  view,  and  besides 
you  haven't  shown  me  her  letter  yet.  In  the  old  days 
they  used  to  kill  the  fatted  calf  for  the  prodigal ;  now 
they  rather  slam  the  door  in  his  face.  I  mean  your 
good  religious  people,  not — nous  autres.  Ah !  is  that 
the  letter?  Thanks." 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEURS.  145 

"  Take  you  back,  I  should  think  she  would,"  he  con- 
tinued presently,  "  it  is  evident  in  every  line.  Even  if 
it  were  not,  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  would  see  to  it. 
But  the  question  is,  do  you  wish  to  go  back?  Remem- 
ber, she  never  knew  the  details,  and  she  treated  you 
very  hardly,  I  thought.  What  was  there  in  your 
being  sent  down  to  make  her  throw  you  over  as  she 
did  ?  Many  good  men  and  true  have  been  sent  down 
before.  If  she  had  really  cared  for  you,  she  wouldn't 
have  done  it." 

"  Oh !  but  you  don't  know  Gwen,"  broke  in  the 
other  eagerly,  "  how  pure  she  is,  how  good,  how  noble. 
She  loves  me,  but  there  is  One  whom  she  loves  more 
still.  You  smile,  Coryton.  I  am  not  over  religious,  I 
know,  but  I  do  believe — in  Gwendolen.  She  sees 
things  through  other  eyes  than  ours.  She  does  not 
know  the  details,  you  say, — she  must  never  know 
them — never — never.  But  you  do  not  know  all.  Only 
two  days  before  that — that  Cottenham  dinner,  she  had 
given  herself  to  me,  her  pure,  sweet  love — all  she  had ; 
and  I — I  had  vowed  to  lead  a  better  life  for  her  sake. 
And  then,  with  my  vows  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  she 
heard  that — I  had  been  sent  down.  Could  she  forgive 
— how  could  she  believe  in  me  longer?  So  as  you 
know,  she  broke  it  all  off — and  I — I  don't  know  how  I 
have  lived  since  then,  drifting  about  like  a  rudderless 
ship.  So  I  wrote  to  her  at  last, — to  plead  for  one  more 
chance,  and  this  is  her  answer.  Tell  me,  Corry,  what 
does  she  mean  ?  " 

"  She  means,  if  I  know  anything  about  such  things," 
Coryton  replied,  tossing  back  the  letter,  "  that  she  is 
at  present  fighting  a  battle  between  her  inclination 
and  what  she  conceives  to  be  her  duty." 

«  And  you  think ?  " 

"  That  her  inclination  will  conquer,  of  course.  It 
always  does.  She  will  take  you  back,  Pigeon,  never 
fear.  This  is  merely  fencing  before  the  buttons  are  off 
the  foils." 

"  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do  ? — I  cannot  go  on 
like  this." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  advise  you  to  do  whatever  you 
think  you  wish  to  do.  I  have  a  theory  that  people 
10 


146  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

only  take  advice  which  happens  to  fit  in  with  their 
inclinations." 

Tyrconnel  thought  a  moment,  then  a  flash  illumined 
his  eyes. 

"  I  know  what  I  will  do,"  he  said.  "  I  will  ask  Aunt 
Kezia  to  write  to  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  and  get  her  to 
bring  Gwen  to  Blarney  in  September,  when  you  and 
Vixie  will  be  there.  When  we  are  together  once 

more,  she  will  relent,  I  am  sure  she  will — but " 

His  face  suddenly  fell.  "  Do  you  think  she  will  con- 
sent to  come  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  will  see  to  that,"  replied 
Coryton  with  a  moody  laugh. 

So  Gwendolen  and  Tyrconnel  would  come  together 
after  all !  Well,  it  would  be  best  to  recognize  the 
situation  and  bow  to  the  inevitable.  "  Che  sard  sard," 
he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  queried  Tyrconnel,  looking 
up  from  the  letter  he  was  now  reading  for  a  fourth 
time. 

"  Merely  that  it  is  best  to  recognize  the  inevitable  in 
all  things. — Ah  !  there  goes  Sally  Popkins  with  the 
Russian  Prince,  as  I  live.  Why,  they  didn't  know  one 
another  half  an  hour  ago.  But  she  knows  how  to  im- 
prove the  shining  hour,  does  Sally." 

"  She  does  indeed,"  said  Tyrconnel  with  an  expres- 
sion of  disgust.  "  Talk  about  the  inevitable — it  seems 
inevitable  for  that  woman  to  cross  my  path — and  just 
now  too,  of  all  times.  I  believe  there  is  destiny  in  it." 

"  Destiny,"  rejoined  Cory  tori,  "  bah !  Destiny  does 
not  concern  itself  with  insignificant  atoms  like  you 
and  me.  Do  not  let  us  lay  that  flattering  unction  to 
our  souls.  We  are  creatures  of  chance,  blown  hither 
and  thither  like  straws  before  the  wind." 

"  Gwendolen  would  not  say  so,"  replied  Tyrconnel 
returning  to  his  letter. 

"  Gwendolen  !  "   echoed  Coryton  with  an  evil  smile. 

Then  he  sprang  from  his  chair  impatiently. 

"  Nearly  ten  o'clock.  Isn't  it  about  time  for  you  to 
have  your  sulphurous  bath,  Tyrconnel  ?  Now  don't 
be  so  down  in  the  mouth.  This  fine  weather  ought  to 
affect  you  like  a  barometer.  You  ought  to  be  up  I 


THE  CITY  OF  LES  DOULEURS.  147 

don't  know  where,  instead  of  persistently  remaining 
below  Zero.  Come,  we'll  stroll  across  to  the  Rosenbad 
together.  We'll  toss  those  little  green  frogs  we  bought 
in  the  Fels-gasse  yesterday,  over  into  the  other  people's 
baths.  Won't  Gussie  Gutter  yell  ?  Of  course  I  shall 
swear  that  you  did  it.  Come,  Joseph  must  have  been 
waiting  an  age.  In  the  afternoon  we'll  walk  over  to 
Vals  and  see  Therese." 

He  linked  his  arm  in  Tyrconnel's  and  they  walked 
over  to  the  long  low  building  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  yclept  the  Rosenbad.  As  they  pushed  open  the 
doors,  an  odor  anything  but  rose-like  greeted  their 
nostrils,  the  sulphurous  fumes,  with  which  the  place 
was  impregnated,  forcibly  suggesting  the  pit  of  Tophet. 
In  the  covered  hall  at  the  back  and  in  the  little  trian- 
gular garden  there  were  a  good  many  people  sitting  or 
standing  about,  patiently  or  impatiently  waiting  their 
turn.  The  bath-accommodation  at  Les  Douleurs  is 
absurdly  limited,  considering  the  number  of  visitors 
who  seek  its  healing  springs. 

Tyrconnel  and  his  companion,  however,  had  not 
long  to  wait.  They  possessed,  or  rather  one  of  them 
did — that  golden  key,  which  unlocks  all  doors.  The 
perspiring  Joseph  greeted  them  with  an  obsequious 
smile  and  bowed  them  down  to  the  white  marble  baths, 
reserved  for  them  at  the  end  of  a  very  long,  narrow 
passage. 

Coryton's  tub  was  a  simple  matter.  As  he  was 
not  going  in  for  the  cure,  it  was  soon  over.  So 
when  he  had  leisurely  dressed  in  the  dainty  blue 
and  white  chamber  leading  from  the  steps  of  his  bath, 
he  brought  out  of  his  pocket  the  box  of  little  frogs, 
which  he  had  smuggled  in  with  him  and  prepared 
for  action.  The  baths  at  the  Rosenbad  run  along  in 
a  row  adjoining  one  another.  They  are  each  sepa- 
rated by  high  tiled  walls,  which  form  separate  little 
bath-rooms,  but  all  are  open  to  the  lofty  dome-like  roof. 

Coryton  listened,  the  spirit  of  mischief  in  his  eyes. 
Every  bath  seemed  full  along  the  line  and  from 
nearly  all  came  whistling,  humming,  or  snatches  of 
song,  with  which  the  bathers  are  wont  to  dispel  the 
bad  half-hour,  during  which  they  sit  up  to  their  chins 


148  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

in  the  greenish  yellow  water.     He  could  hear  some 
little  way  down,  Miss  Gussie  Gutter  crooning : 

"  Wot  cher  'Kia  ? 
'Ilia  s  on  the  job." 

and  nearer  a  volatile  Frenchman's  truculent : 

"  Malbrou1  s'en  va-t-en  guerre, 
Miron-ton-ton-ton,  mirontaine  ; 
Qui  salt  quand  reviendra  ?  " 

while  just  beyond   Tyrconnel's  bath    there   came  a 
grunting : 

"  Hopp,  hopp,  hopp 
Pferdchen  lauf  Galopp, 
Uber  Stock  und  iiber  Steine 
Aber  brich  mir  nicht  die  Beine  I 
Immer  im  GMopp, 
Hopp,  hopp,  hopp,  hopp  1  " 

from  a  fat  old  German  Countess. 

"  Hist !  Pigeon,"  whispered  Coryton  tapping  the 
wall,  which  divided  them.  "  Now !  " 

The  songs  suddenly  ceased.  There  came  a  volley  of 
shrill  Billingsgate  from  the  fair  Gussie,  an  exasperated 
" Scrongnieu!"  from  the  Frenchman,  a  guttural  "Conner- 
wetter  /"  from  the  German  Countess,  a  violent  ringing 
of  bells,  a  rushing  to  and  fro  of  attendants,  and  exclama- 
tions of  reprimand,  disgust  and  indignation  all  along  the 
line. 

The  author  of  all  the  trouble  strolled  out  with  an 
impassive  countenance  and,  meeting  the  angry  Frau 
Lincter  (the  presiding  genius  of  the  Rosenbad),  gave 
a  significant  nod  in  the  direction  of  Tyrconnel's  bath. 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  149 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    CURE- HOUSE    BEVEL. 

Vado  a  balar  ze  vero 
Cossa  ghe  ze  de  mal  f 
Salter  a  Veth  mia 
No  Ve  peed  mortal 
Se  giro,  e  se  se  sburta 
E  se  sefa  strucar 
Vado  a  balar  ze  vero 
No  steme  a  tormentar. — VENETIAN  SONG. 

CORYTON  paused  for  a  moment  uncertainly  as  the  glass- 
doors  of  the  bath-house  swung  to  behind  him.  Then 
he  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  Mariahilf,  and 
strolled  leisurely  up  to  the  Lousberg. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  bright  and  clear,  the  gar- 
dens of  the  villas  in  Ludwig's  Alltie  were  all  a-bloom, 
and  the  lime-trees  swung  their  fragrant  censers  low 
above  his  head  as  he  walked  along.  But  he  hardly  no- 
ticed it  all.  His  face  was  dark,  and  his  thoughts  were 
occupied  with  other  tings. 

What  brought  this  moody  cloud  to  his  brow  ? 

Coryton  had  hoped  to  play  off  Sally  upon  Tyrconnel, 
against  Gwendolen.  What  he  expected  to  gain  out  of 
it  all  was  hardly  clear  even  to  himself.  He  only  knew 
that  with  Gwendolen's  influence  in  the  ascendant,  he 
would  gain  nothing.  And  when  Gwendolen  broke  with 
Tyrconnel  after  he  had  been  sent  down  from  Cam- 
bridge, it  seemed  as  though  he  had  succeeded.  But 
when  he  found  that  Tyrconnel  was  writing  to  Gwen- 
dolen behind  his  back,  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  see 
that  the  game  was  up.  It  was  no  use  opposing  him. 
There  was  a  strong  vein  of  obstinacy  in  Tyrconnel's 
character  and  Coryton,  who  knew  this,  felt  that  the 
only  thing  was  to  play  to  his  likings ;  and  since  his 


150  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

mind  was  set  on  Gwendolen,  he  would  marry  her. 
But  the  marriage  must  be  brought  about  in  such  a  way 
that  it  would  seem  that  it  was  through  Coryton — and 
Cory  ton  alone — that  it  came  to  puss.  And  after? 

"Well,"  he  thought  with  a  cynical  smile,  "one 
must  wait  the  progress  of  events,  a  disillusion  may 
set  in.  More  love  dies  from  satiety  than  from  starva- 
tion. It  is  impossible  to  interest,  or  to  be  interested  in, 
a  person  one  sees  every  day." 

The  future,  however,  was  uncertain.  One  thing  only 
was  certain  now,  and  that  was,  that  Sally  was  played 
out — at  any  rate  for  the  present.  Tyrconnel  evidently 
viewed  her  with  aversion  as  the  origin  of  all  his 
troubles. 

Coryton  thought  of  all  this  as  he  climbed  the 
steep  ascent.  The  Lousberg  is  a  curving,  pyramid- 
shaped  hill  which  rises  abruptly  out  of  the  plain. 
Fifty  years  ago  it  was  bleak  and  naked,  but  now  with 
its  shady  avenues  and  winding  walks,  it  forms  a 
sort  of  Bois  de  Boulogne  to  Les  Douleurs.  Coryton  went 
up  as  far  as  the  Josephine  Monument,  and  leaning 
over  the  railing  looked  down  upon  the  city  stretched 
out  panorama- wise  beneath.  His  gaze  wandered  over 
the  octagon-shaped  dome  of  Charlemagne's  famous 
Cathedral,  past  the  Marschier  gate,  and  the  old  ivy- 
covered  fortifications,  to  where  the  Eifel  mountains 
loomed  a  broad  line  of  blue  on  the  distant  horizon. 
He  was  all  alone.  The  place  seemed  deserted.  It  was 
yet  the  forenoon  and  most  of  the  visitors  were  occupied 
with  their  cure.  By  and  by,  when  the  band  played 
in  the  Belvedere  just  below  where  he  was  standing, 
it  would  be  crowded,  and  still  more  thronged  to- 
morrow evening,  for  the  Fremden-Blatt  had  announced 
fireworks  on  the  Lousberg,  and  the  Salvator  church 
on  the  hill  opposite  was  to  be  illuminated  by  the  white 
glare  of  electric  light. 

A  great  wave  of  bitterness  swept  over  Coryton  as 
he  stood  gazing  over  the  wide  champaign  ;  a  sense  of 
the  injustice  of  things  arose  in  his  heart,  as  he 
contrasted  his  own  position  with  that  of  Tyrconnel's. 

"  Here  am  I,"  he  thought,  "  with  ability  and  energy 
enough  for  ten  men " — he  was  not  prone  to  under- 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  151 

rate  himself — "  and  every  promise  of  success,  were  not 
every  promise  blasted  by  the  lack  of  opportunity 
which  money  alone  brings.  While  this  raw  youth 
with  but  a  fraction  of  my  brains,  has  only  to  stretch 
out  his  hand  and  all  good  things  are  showered  into 
it.  Wealth,  fame,  power,  gratified  ambition — all  may 
be  his.  While — I — I  am  never  to  have  a  fair  chance. 
I  am  to  be  content  to  black  his  boots — to  be  grateful 
for  the  crumbs  which  fall  from  the  rich  man's  table — 
to  end  life  at  the  point  at  which  he  started." 

He  beat  his  hand  against  the  railings  in  the  agony  of 
his  hate  and  scorn. 

"  Is  it  a  wonder,"  he  continued  to  himself,  "  that  I 
am  driven  into  crooked  and  tortuous  paths,  to  plot 
and  scheme  with  sharpers  and  cocottes,  when  these 
things  are  so  ?  What  chance  have  I  otherwise  ? — Oh 
yes,  it  is  easy  to  practice  all  the  virtues — when  one 
has  a  good  balance  at  one's  bankers — the  poor  man 
cannot  afford  them.  It  is  better  to  be  born  blind, 
and  deaf,  and  lame  than  without  money.  Neither 
heaven  nor  earth  have  any  good  for  those  who  have  it 
not.  Gad !  When  I  think  of  it  all,  the  game  of  living 
seems  hardly  worth  the  candle." 

We  have  all  our  weak  moments,  even  the  wisest 
among  us. 

He  was  so  engrossed  with  his  thoughts  that  he  did 
not  hear  a  light  step  behind  him  falling  softly  on  the 
grass.  Some  one  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
high-pitched  voice  cried : 

"  Well,  old  Chappie ;  what  are  you  thinking  about 
so  hard  ?  " 

Coryton  swerved  round  and  faced  Sally  (for  she  it 
was),  with  all  the  evil  passions  his  thoughts  had  called 
up  marked  upon  his  face.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  obliterate  them  in  a  moment.  He  wanted  to  be 
alone  just  now,  and  she  jarred  upon  him.  Besides,  he 
had  no  use  for  her  at  present. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  said  shortly,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  of  Charlemagne." 

"  Charlie  who  ?  "  flippantly  rejoined  the  irrepressible 
Sally.  "Don't  know  him.  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

Then  she  sat  down  on  a  bench  with  her  back  to  the 


152  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

view  and  swung  her  heels  together.  She  had  no  eye 
for  the  beauties  of  nature,  it  appeared. 

"  It's  lucky  we  have  met,  for  I  have  been  wanting 
to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  she  continued.  "  Come,  now, 
you  needn't  give  yourself  those  high-and-mighty  airs." 

Coryton  ignored  the  latter  part  of  the  speech, — in 
fact  he  scarcely  heard  it.  He  was  trying  to  bring  his 
emotions  under  control,  and  well-disciplined  though 
they  were,  it  was  a  minute  or  so  before  he  could  man- 
age to  do  so.  He  looked  down,  and  began  to  punch 
little  holes  in  the  turf  with  his  stick. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Oof !  "  replied  Sally  laconically,  bringing  her  heels 
together  with  a  click. 

"  I  hope  you  may  get  it,"  rejoined  Coryton  indiffer- 
ently. "  You  won't  get  any  out  of  me.  You  ought 
to  know  that  by  this  time.  Dog  doesn't  eat  dog,  you 
know." 

Then  he  went  on  digging  at  the  turf  again. 

A  little  flush  of  annoyance  crept  over  Sally's  well- 
powdered  cheeks. 

"  There's  the  Pigeon,"  she  said  tentatively,  "  What 
about  him  ?  "  Her  voice  became  a  trifle  shrill. 

"  The  Pigeon's  no  go,"  answered  Coryton  with  a  short 
laugh,  "  he  has  eaten  sour  grapes  and  his  teeth  are  set 
on  edge.  No  more  cakes  and  ale  for  the  Pigeon.  Pie 
is  going  to  marry  and  mend  his  ways.  The  game's 
up,  my  dear  Miss  de  Yere,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned. 
You  had  better  seek  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new. 
You'll  get  nothing  more  out  of  that  particular  pasture 
I  warrant  you." 

"I  never  did  get  anything  out  of  it,"  cried  Sally 
jumping  up  indignantly  from  her  seat.  "  Nothing  at 
all.  I  never  saw  him  after  that  evening, — you  know 
that ;  and  I  nearly  had  a  row  with  Pimlico  into  the 
bargain So  this  is  the  end  of  all  your  fine  prom- 
ises, is  it?  You  may  be  a  very  clever  fellow,  Mr.  Cory- 
ton — so  I  dare  say  you  are — for  yourself — but  you 
won't  catch  me  doing  any  more  of  your  dirty  work  in 
a  hurry,  I  can  tell  you." 

She  faced  him  with  flashing  eyes,  her  voice  rising 
almost  to  the  upper  C.  These  moods  did  not  suit 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  153 

Sally.  In  them  the  artificial  veneer  was  apt  to  wear 
off,  to  reveal  the  coarse  grains  underneath. 

Cory  ton  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  ebullition. 
His  face  was  inscrutable.  He  had  got  the  mastery 
over  himself  by  this  time. 

"  Isn't  it  rather  a  pity  to  waste  so  much  energy  ?  " 
he  said  quietly.  "  If  you  scream  so  loud  all  Aix  will 
hear  you." 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  do,"  retorted  Sally  crescendo  : 
"  I  have  a  good  mind  to  go  to  Tyrconnel  and  tell  him 
the  whole  story." 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  believe  a  word  you  said  ?  " 
replied  Coryton  contemptuously.  "  But  come,  let  us 
drop  these  heroics ;  they  don't  become  you,  and  they 
bore  me.  Granted  this  little  affair  has  turned  out  a 
failure.  Whose  fault  is  it?  Not  mine  I  assure  you.  .  .  . 
I  have  put  you  on  many  good  things  before  now,  and 
may  do  so  again — if  you  only  keep  cool.  Gratitude, 
we  both  understand,  means  a  keen  sense  of  favors  to 
come ;  there  will  be  more  favors,  believe  me,  if  only 
you  are  reasonable  and  do  as  I  tell  you." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,"  retorted  Sally,  a  little  molli- 
fied none  the  less.  "  A  bird  in  the  hand's  worth  two 
in  the  bush.  I  might  believe  you  if  I  saw  the  color  of 
your  coin.  It  would  prove  you  were  in  earnest,"  she 
added  coaxingly  ;  "  come,  put  a  tenner  now." 

"  You'll  never  get  a  brass  farthing  out  of  me,"  re- 
joined Coryton,  brutally.  "  I'm  too  wary  a  bird  to  buy 
off  rny  Danes.  .  .  .  You  don't  grasp  the  allusion. 
Well,  never  mind.  It  only  means  there's  no  cash  in 
this  quarter.  There's  the  Russian  Prince,  why  not  try 
him  ? — or  old  Colonel  Oldbags  of  the  Blues  ?  A  tenner 
forsooth!  What's  the  good  of  a  tenner.  I  can  put 
you  up  to  a  dodge  by  which  we'll  get  not  a  tenner — 
but  hundreds,  not  just  yet  perhaps — but  a  little  later, 
when  the  Pigeon  has  settled  down  in  the  odor  of  sanc- 
tity. .  .  .  We  cannot  all  pay  for  our  youthful  follies, 
you  know.  Come,  let  us  walk  down  the  hill  together, 
and  I  will  tell  you  how  to  work  the  oracle  as  we  go 
along.  .  .  ." 

Sally  sulkily  consented. 

What  transpired  between  them  it  is  impossible  to 


154  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREK 

say,  but  when  Miss  Popkins  appeared  in  the  Eurkaus 
Garden  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  her  good  humor 
was  apparently  restored. 

Perhaps  it  was  that  little  luncheon  with  the  Russian 
Prince,  which  had  most  to  do  with  it.  Anyway,  she 
greeted  Coryton  with  a  smile  in  which  there  was  no 
trace  of  ill-will :  for  Ty rconnel  was  reserved  a  saddened 
inclination  of  the  head  and  a  sigh  strangled  in  its 
birth.  It  was  lost  upon  him,  however,  for  he  was 
walking  with  the  Archdeaconess. 

That  good  lady,  who  was  something  of  a  permanency 
at  Les  Douleurs,  and  whose  little  rooms  in  the  Biichel 
were  quite  a  centre  for  the  English  Colony,  was  busily 
engaged  in  pointing  out  to  Tyrconnel  the  local  celebri- 
ties of  the  place.  These  mustered  in  great  force  to- 
night, for  it  was  the  occasion  of  what  the  Kur-  Verein 
were  pleased  to  denominate  a  Grande  Reunion — illumi- 
nations and  a  dance.  The  dingy  garden  of  the  Kur- 
haus,  by  day  hardly  a  cheerful  place,  was  on  this  par- 
ticular evening  transformed  into  a  fairyland ;  ropes  of 
colored  lamps  ran  from  end  to  end,  and  many  hundred 
lanterns  gleamed  among  the  trees.  Groups  of  people 
were  gathered  around  the  little  tables,  chatting  and 
laughing  as  they  drank  their  beer  (without  which  no 
German  festivity  would  be  complete),  or  were  walking 
up  and  down,  listening  to  the  music  of  the  band. 

In  the  larger  ball-room  of  the  Kurhaus — a  handsome 
room  richly  decorated  with  stuccoes  and  paintings, — 
another  band  was  playing.  The  windows  were  wide 
open  to  the  summer  night,  and  through  them  at  inter- 
vals streamed  the  dancers,  pacing  up  and  down  the 
balcony  and  looking  down  therefrom  at  the  animated 
scene  below. 

The  Archdeaconess  kept  a  tight  hold  on  Tyrconnel, 
as  she  gave  him  sage  advice  as  to  whom  to  know  and 
whom  to  avoid,  and  she  listened  sympathetically  to  his 
troubles  the  while — or  at  least  to  as  much  of  them  as 
he  felt  inclined  to  tell  her.  She  was  one  of  the  kindest- 
hearted  of  women — with  a  weakness  for  young  English- 
men. She  never  forced  confidences,  but  she  heard  a 
good  many — and  very  strange  ones  they  must  have 
been,  some  of  them. 


A  CURE-HOUSE  EEVEL.  155 

"  People  often  tell  me  more  than  they  think,"  she 
would  remark  sagely  over  her  cup  of  "English"  tea, 
and  no  doubt  they  did,  for  a  prolonged  sojourn  at 
Les  Douleurs  is  apt  to  sharpen  one's  powers  of  obser- 
vation. Besides  which  mothers  confided  in  her — those 
who  knew  her — and  bade  her  give  an  eye  to  their 
youthful  prodigals.  Miss  Tyrconnel,  who  had  heard 
of  her  through  her  pastor,  the  Rev.  Fyre  Irons,  who 
had  once  been  chaplain  here,  had  written  to  her, 
imploring  her  to  keep  watch  on  Wilfrid.  She  was 
just  the  person  to  do  it.  Was  she  not  the  widow  of 
an  Archdeacon  ?  Did  she  not  keep  the  keys  of  the 
Church? 

"I  must  introduce  you  to  the  Chaplain's  daughters, 
Mr.  Tyrconnel,"  she  said  as  they  walked  round  under 
the  trees,  "  such  sweet  girls — that  was  one  of  them, 
Barbara,  dancing  just  now  with  Baron  von  Stern." 

"  Rather  a  funny  place  for  a  chaplain  to  bring  his 
daughters,  isn't  it  ?  "  asked  Tyrconnel  blankly,  gazing 
round  at  the  motley  crowd. 

The  Archdeaconess  laughed. 

"  Well,  since  you  mention  it,"  she  replied  confiden- 
tially, "  it  is  ;  I  should  not  have  said  anything  myself, 

but  if  they  were  my  girls "  She  gave  her  shoulders 

an  expressive  shrug.  "  However,  the  Chaplain  is  a 
very  strange  man.  Did  you  hear  of  that  dispute  he 
had  the  other  day  with  Colonel  Oldbags  ?  " 

"  No,  all  I  know  of  him  is  that  he  deals  in  very 
bad  cigars,"  rejoined  Tyrconnel,  who  had  a  vivid 
recollection  of  some  vile  "  Trichies  "  which  the  rever- 
end gentleman  palmed  off  upon  him  at  a  mark  a  piece. 

The  Archdeaconess  smiled  broadly — a  meaning  smile. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Tyrconnel,  you  don't  mean  to  say  he  has 
been  trying  that  on  with  you  already  ?  I  ought  to  have 
warned  you.  Why  that  is  a  very  old  game.  I  know 
exactly  what  he  said:  Just  a  very  few  which  he 
brought  with  him  from  India, — he  would  let  you  have 
an  odd  hundred  as  a  very  great  favor.  That  was  it, 

wasn't  it  ? Ah  !  yes  I  thought  so.  Brought 

them  from  India  indeed !  Why  he  buys  them  down 
at  Schmidt's,  in  the  Fels-gasse,  for  five  marks  the 
gross,  and  then  sells  them  at  £5  a  hundred.  He  ought 


156  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

to  be  ashamed  of  himself — quite  a  disgrace  to  the  cloth 
I  call  it !  But  there — these  ex-army  chaplains  !  How 
different  to  the  poor  clear  Archdeacon,  or  even  that 
shepherd  of  souls  Mr.  Fyre  Irons.  However,  Barbara 
is  a  sweet  girl  and  dances  so  nicely.  Shall  we  go  up 
to  the  ball-room  now,  and  I  will  introduce  you." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  be  introduced — but  I  can't 
dance — I  don't  feel  up  to  it." 

"  Ah  !  those  baths  are  very  fatiguing,"  rejoined  the 
Archdeaconess  and  then  she  squeezed  his  arm.  "  I 
am  so  sorry  for  you — dear  Mr.  Tyrconnel,  I  have 
had  sons  of  my  own.  But  there,  you  have  come  to 
the  right  place  to  get  well,  Les  Douleurs  is  perfectly 
wonderful.  You  have  only  had  twenty-one  I  think 
you  said.  By  the  time  your  cure  is  over  I  hope  to 
see  you  spinning  round  the  room  like  a  top.  If  you 
will  wait  just  one  moment  I  will  leave  my  bonnet 
in  the  cloak-room,  and  we  will  go  into  the  ball-room 
together." 

The  band  was  playing  the  sugary-sweet  Danube 
"Waltz  as  they  entered  the  room,  and  a  good  many 
couples  were  revolving  to  its  strains.  There  was  a 
great  variet}?"  of  waltzing,  the  queer  German  cleitx- 
tewps  steps  being  perhaps  the  most  predominant,  but 
there  was  also  the  Liverpool  lurch,  the  Hampstead 
hop,  the  Clapham  slide,  and  the  Kensington-beyond- 
Jordan  shuffle,  for  the  sort  of  Englishmen  who  dance 
at  Les  Douleurs  generally  hail  from  some  of  these 
classic  parts.  The  others  are  content  to  look  on. 
There  were  a  good  many  looking  on  to-night,  standing 
in  groups  far  out  into  the  room  so  as  to  seriously 
interfere  with  the  comfort  of  the  dancers.  The  Arch- 
deaconess  made  her  way  up  to  one  of  these  groups. 

"  Dear  Colonel  Oldbags,"  she  exclaimed,  effusively 
bearing  down  upon  a  battered  young-elderly  man 
who  was  leaning  against  the  wall.  "  So  pleased  to 
see  you  again !  When  did  you  come  ?  You  are 
staying  at  Xuellens  as  usual,  I  suppose?"  Then 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  these  questions, 

"  Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Tyrconnel Colonel 

Oldbags  is  quite  an  habitue  of  Les  Douleurs,"  she 
explained. 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  157 

"  You  have  been  here  before  ? "  queried  Tyrconnel 
by  way  of  saying  something,  for  Oldbags  regarded 
him  in  silence  with  a  melancholy  stare. 

"  Fifteen  times,"  rejoined  the  Colonel  with  the  air 
of  one  who  has  done  something  to  be  proud  of— 
"  three  times  every  year  for  the  last  five  years.  It 
has  been  my  salvation.  You  remember  " — turning  to 
the  Archdeaconess — "  what  a  wreck  I  was  when  first 
I  came  and — look  at  me  now." 

Tyrconnel  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  It  was  difficult 
to  conceive  a  more  dilapidated  specimen  of  mankind 
even  now.  What  he  must  have  been  in  the  past,  it 
baffled  the  wit  of  man  to  conceive.  The  Archdeaconess, 
however,  evidently  thought  a  miracle  had  been  worked. 

"  Perfectly  wonderful !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing  up 
her  hands. 

"And  you?  Have  you  been  here  often?"  asked 
he  of  the  sorrowful  countenance  of  Tyrconnel. 

"  This  is  my  first  time,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  the 
last.  My  doctor  thinks  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  me 
to  return,"  he  rejoined. 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head  with  sad  foreboding. 

"  Once,"  he  said,  "  is  no  use  at  all — you  might  just 
as  well  stop  at  home — I  could  tell  you  of  many  cases.  .  ." 
This  he  forthwith  proceeded  to  do,  with  the  most 
approved  charnel-house  details. 

Tyrconnel  turned  away.  This  was  hardly  a  cheerful 
conversation.  Why  is  the  path  of  virtue  so  hard  and 
the  other  one  so  smooth?  There  was  Coryton  for 
instance,  over  the  other  side  of  the  room  apparently 
enjoying  himself  immensely  with  Sally,  Pussie  Prance- 
well,  Gussie  Gutter,  and  two  or  three  men.  Each 
of  the  three  ladies  carried  a  huge  bouquet;  they  were 
chaffing  and  laughing  to  their  hearts'  content.  Pres- 
ently they  all  went  off  to  the  supper  room  together. 

Tyrconnel  felt  quite  sad.  He  wished  the  pretty 
golden-haired  Fraulein,  with  whom  he  was  so  fond 
of  sitting  under  the  vine-clad  arbor  in  the  garden 
of  the  Hotel  Dubigk,  was  here — she  and  her  pretty 
sister.  He  had  done  his  best  to  persuade  them,  but 
they  would  not  come.  "  Les  Douleurs'  society  doesn't 
do  such  things,"  they  had  told  him,  with  an  uncon- 


158  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

scious  parody  of  Hedda  Gabbler.  But  he  really 
couldn't  stand  this  woeful  Colonel  any  longer.  He 
was  worse  than  old  Wrigglesworth  snarling  in  yonder 
corner,  or  Lady  Sometyme  Typsie  and  her  JBackfisch 
daughter  on  the  sofa  at  the  top  of  the  room.  So 
he  took  the  Archdeaconess  into  the  supper-room  and 
they  had  a  bottle  of  sparkling  Moselle  together. 

There  was  a  very  uproarious  party  at  the  table 
next  them.  Miss  Popkins  gave  a  comical  sidelong 
glance  towards  Tyrconnel  as  he  came  into  the  room, 
and  then  seeing  that  he  did  not  respond,  resumed  her 
pleasing  pastime  of  trying  to  teach  a  little  Spanish 
Count  to  speak  English.  Her  method  was  not  that 
of  Ollendorff,  since  it  consisted  chiefly  of  making  him 
repeat  after  her  such  brilliant  witticisms  as  "  Go,  fry 
your  face,"  and  so  forth,  but  his  attempt  thereat 
seemed  to  provoke  the  party  to  an  altogether  dispro- 
portionate amount  of  mirth. 

Sally  was  looking  very  pretty  this  evening,  all  in 
white,  a  symbol  of  her  artless  innocence.  She  thought 
herself  very  much  on  the  spot  and  so  did  the  Spanish 
Count,  and  he  divided  his  attentions  equally  between 
her  and  the  mayonnaise.  The  rest  of  the  party  were 
all  very  lively ;  Miss  Pussie  Prancewell  late  of  the 
Gaiety,  was  repeating  to  the  two  young  Englishmen 
from  the  Grand  Monarque  Hotel  a  private  and  unbowd- 
lerized  version  of  "  Helen  of  Troy,"  a  process  which 
seemed  to  afford  them  an  infinite  amount  of  satisfac- 
tion. 

Cory  ton  was  carrying  on  a  brisk  dialogue  with 
Miss  Gussie  Gutter.  That  young  woman  was  inclined 
to  be  quarrelsome  at  first,  and  made  many  scathing 
remarks  when  Sally  sat  down  on  her  bouquet  by  mis- 
take, but  Coryton's  tact  had  averted  the  threatened 
storm,  and  now  under  the  genial  influence  of  supper 
she  waxed  both  generous  and  expansive.  Gussie  had 
a  good  heart  with  all  her  faults. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  your — er — friend,  Lord 
Welcher  ?  "  asked  Coryton  as  he  plied  her  with  more 
champagne.  He  wasn't  paying  for  it,  by  the  way. 

"  Mr.  Smith,  you  mean,"  corrected  Gussie.  "  He 
went  to  his  downey  long  ago.  He  mustn't  keep  late 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  159 

hours  while  the  cure's  going  on,  the  doctor  says,  and 
as  I'm  over  here  to  look  after  him  I  see  that  the  doc- 
tor's instructions  are  carried  out.  '  What's  the  good 
of  coming  over  here  if  you  don't,  Johnnie,'  I  say. 
'Right  you  are,'  he  says  and  turns  in  as  meek  as  a 
lamb.  No  nonsense  with  me,  I  can  tell  you — Poor 
old  Johnnie !  he's  a  bad  lot,  I  know,  but  I  should 
be  very  sorry  for  anything  to  happen  to  him  all  the 
same." 

Here  Gussie  wiped  away  a  furtive  tear,  but  whether 
born  of  Johnnie  or  of  the  champagne,  who  shall  say  ? 

"I  daresay,"  she  continued,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone,  catching  sight  of  the  smile  which  played  for 
an  instant  about  her  listener's  lips,  "  that  you  think  I 
only  care  for  what  I  get  out  of  him.  But  I  don't.  It's 
rather  the  other  way,  I  think;  I  pay  my  way — look 
here."  She  whipped  an  envelope  out  of  her  pocket  and 
drew  forth  a  check.  "  Do  you  see  what  that  is  ? — 
Forty  quid ;  that  is  for  one  week's  work,  four  songs, 
or  rather  four  times  the  same  song,  at  four  different 
halls— the  Tiv',  the  Troc',  the  Pav'  and  the  Oxford.  I 
just  hop  into  a  hansom  and  round  I  go — one  after  the 
other,  and  the  thing's  done.  £10  a  week  for  each  song. 
So  long  as  I  can  do  that  I  have  no  need  for  anybody 
to  pay  my  bills,"  went  on  Gussie  with  dignity,  folding 
up  the  check  again.  "And  the  best  of  it  is,"  she 
added,  dropping  her  voice  confidentially,  "  I  can't  sing 
a  bit." 

"  Oh !  don't  say  so !  "  put  in  Coryton  affably. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  repeated  Gussie,  with  engaging  frank- 
ness, "so  don't  come  any  of  your  blarney  over  me.  I 
often  think  of  the  man  in  the  pit  who  called  out  to  me 
to  'Go  'ome  and  git  you  v'ice  sandpapered.'  Great 
Scott !  if  I  was  to  sandpaper  it,  there  wouldn't  be  any 
left.  And  you  know  it  too — but  there — bless  you,  the 
public  ain't  musical — they  want  to  be  amused,  and  I'm 
so  '  sheek.' " 

"  Chic  indeed ! "  murmured  Coryton  as  he  filled  her 
glass  again. 

Miss  Gutter  quaffed  it  at  a  draught. 

"  Not  bad  tipple  this,"  she  said,  "  a  trifle  too  sweet 
for  my  liking  though."  Then  she  gave  Coryton  a 


160  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

nudge.  "Look  at  Sally  there.  How  she's  carrying 
on  with  that  little  Count.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a 
man.  I  wonder  where  he  springs  from  ?  Shall  we 
ask  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  wiser  not  to  ask  any  questions  at  Les  Dou- 
leurs,"  replied  Coryton.  "He  may  be  a  Prince  in 
disguise,  you  know  princes  do  come  here  in  disguise 
occasionally." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  princes,"  said  Gussie,  "  I 
never  knew  one — I  never  got  beyond  a  Duke.  Hi — I 
say,  Count  where  do  you  hail  from  ?  " 

The  Count  knew  that  he  was  being  addressed,  but 
he  didn't  understand  a  word  she  was  saying.  So  he 
removed  his  eyes  from  Sally  and  looked  over  the  top 
of  the  trifle-dish  at  his  interlocutor  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  Pardon  ?  "  he  asked  tentatively. 

"  Tell  him,  Sally,"  said  Miss  Gutter,  repeating  her 
question.  But  Sally's  knowledge  of  the  German  tongue 
did  not  run  so  far.  So  it  had  to  be  deputed  to 
Wrigglesworth,  one  of  Miss  Prancewell's  friends. 

"  He  says  that  he  comes  from  Spain,  where  he  has 
an  ancient  castle  and  huge  estates — vast  forests  of  cork 
trees,  and  acres  of  garlic,"  explained  that  worthy  after 
he  had  translated  the  question. 

"  Tell  that  to  the  Marines,"  cried  Gussie  derisively, 
"  I'm  more  than  seven.  Here !  Kellner — waiter — 
whatever  your  name  is,  bring  some  more  champagne 
— same  as  last. — Let  us  drink  to  the  Count  and  his 
Castle  in  Spain.  Tell  the  Count,  Mr.  Wriggles,  what 
it's  all  about." 

There  was  a  fresh  outburst  of  merriment  round  the 
table.  When  some  people  have  advanced  to  a  certain 
stage  it  takes  but  little  to  amuse  them.  Tyrconnel, 
sitting  apart  with  respectability  and  the  Archdea- 
coness,  felt  very  much  out  of  it.  Yet  surely  it  was  not 
much  to  be  "  out  of  " — this  coarse  revelry. 

"  Waiter,"  cried  Gussie,  "  if  you  don't  bring  that  fiz 
sharp,  I'll  say  something  that'll  make  your  ears  tingle. 
That's  right,  now  fill  up  all  of  you.  No  heeltaps! 
Here's  to  our  next  merry  meeting." 

"  I  think,"  she  said  presently,  "  it's  about  time  we 
were  moving  to  the  next  room.  I  hear  them  striking 


A  CURE-HOUSE  REVEL.  161 

up  again.  But  I'm  tired  of  slidin'  and  glidin'  to  those 
everlasting  waltzes.  It's  time  we  had  something  more 
lively  I  say — they  may  be  all  right  for  these  beer- 
swilling  Germans,  but  I  want  to  skip  about  a  little. — 
Say,  Sally — Pussy — shall  we  do  the  pah  de  troy,  eh  ?  " 

But  Miss  Prancewell  pleaded  to  be  excused.  She 
was  here  for  her  health,  she  said.  Miss  Popkins,  how- 
ever, was  game. 

"  Oh !  very  well,  we'll  call  it  the  pah  de  doo  then !  " 
continued  Gussie,  nothing  daunted,  "  Sally  and  I  will 
be  able  to  manage  it.  My — won't  the  furriners  stare. 
Come,  Sally,  are  you  ready  ?  What  are  they  playing 
now,  a  waltz  or  a  polka  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  said  the  astute  Coryton,  mind- 
ful of  the  bill.  If  he  ate  his  supper  with  these  sort  of 
people,  they  must  pay  for  the  privilege.  He  wasn't 
going  to  do  so. 

In  the  doorway  he  came  across  Tyrconnel  and  the 
Archdeaconess  and  attached  himself  to  them  at  once. 
Even  Gussie  would  not  dare  to  pursue  him  here.  The 
sable  skirts  of  the  Archdeaconess  were  a  sort  of 
danger-signal  to  young  persons  of  her  type. 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  have  been  wanting  to  come  to 
you,"  murmured  Coryton  as  they  went  back  to  the 
ball-room — "  but  it  was  so  difficult  to  get  away  from 
those  dreadful  people." 

"  Dreadful  indeed,  Mr.  Coryton,"  said  the  Archdea- 
coness severely,  unfurling  her  fan.  "  I  meant  to  have 
warned  you.  I  have  heard  all  about  them — Goodness 
gracious ! — what  are  they  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

Well  might  the  Archdeaconess  exclaim.  Her  virtu- 
ous eyes  had  never  seen  such  a  sight  before.  Gussie 
and  Sally  having  kilted  their  skirts  a  little,  started 
forth  on  their  celebrated  " pah  de  doo  " — a  dance  chiefly 
remarkable  for  a  sort  of  prancing  step  and  a  liberal 
display  of  ankle  and  frilling,  something  of  the  sort  of 
dance  young  ladies  now  endeavor  to  imitate  in  London 
drawing-rooms  before  a  select  circle  of  bored  acquaint- 
ance. They  call  it  "skirt-dancing"  and  fondly  im- 
agine that  it  is  so.  But  it  isn't,  unless  it  be  skirt- 
dancing  plus  vulgarity  and  minus  grace. 

A  waltz  was  being  played  when  the  two  ladies  first 


162  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

plunged  into  the  throng,  egged  on  by  the  plaudits  of 
Miss  Prancewell  and  her  companions.  Round  and  round 
the  room  they  span,  each  round  being  wilder  than 
before.  If  their  object  was,  as  Miss  Gutter  had  put  it, 
"  to  make  the  furriners  stare,"  they  certainly  achieved 
it.  Necks  were  craned  forward,  lorgnettes  elevated,  and 
exclamations  of  curiosity,  wonder,  surprise,  amusement, 
admiration  and  disgust — the  last  chiefly  from  the 
matrons  of  the  Anglo-American  colony — were  heard 
on  every  side.  The  English  Chaplain  withdrew  his 
daughters  from  the  scene,  the  Archdeaconess  remon- 
strated, but  the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies  was  at  sup- 
per, and  there  was  no  one  to  interfere — even  if  there 
had  been  anything  to  interfere  with.  After  all  it  was 
only  two  young  ladies  enjoying  themselves  after  their 
own  fashion. 

"  These  English  are  so  eccentric,"  said  the  Germans. 
And  then  at  Les  Douleurs  one  is  used  to  strange  sights. 

The  waltzers,  becoming  gradually  aware  that  some- 
thing unusual  was  going  on  in  their  midst,  paused  one 
by  one,  until  at  last  Gussie  and  Sally  were  left  in  pos- 
session of  the  field.  Stimulated  by  the  sensation  they 
were  creating,  possibly  also  by  their  libations  of  spark- 
ling wine,  they  rose  to  the  occasion  and  pranced  more 
than  ever.  Round  and  round,  up  and  down,  they  flew, 
flushed,  panting,  breathless, — but  undaunted.  Sally 
lost  her  shoe,  but  went  on  merrily  just  the  same.  Gus- 
sie's  hairpins  came  out  and  her  hair  tumbled  down 
her  back  like  a  Moenad's.  At  last  the  music  closed 
with  a  crash  and  they  collapsed,  exhausted,  on  a 
friendly  settee  amid  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  admir- 
ing friends. 

"  Get  me  something  to  drink  do,  Count,  if  you  love 
me,"  gasped  Sally.  "  My  mouth's  like  a  dust-bin — well 
that  was  a  dance,  Gussie." 

"Yes,"  panted  that  young  lady,  "we  have  given 
them  something  to  talk  about  at  last — you  bet.  Lend 
me  some  hair  pins  do,  Pussie,  my  hair's  all  anyhow. 
Luckily  it's  my  own." 

"  You  should  spare  us  a  lock  in  honor  of  the  occa- 
sion," put  in  Wrigglesworth. 

"  Oh !  you  want  a  keepsake  do  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Gus- 


A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  UP-TO-DATE.  163 

sie.  "  Well,  we  can't  part  with  our  hair,  can  we,  Sally  ? 
But,"  stripping  a  ribbon  from  her  dress  as  she  spoke 
"  we'll  give  you  something  else.  Who  wants  one  ?  " 

The  last  impression  the  Archdeaconess  had  as  she 
shook  the  dust  off  her  feet  and  hurried  from  the  room, 
was  the  picture  of  two  'Bacchanalian  young  women  re- 
clining on  a  couch,  and  giving  away  shreds  of  ribbon 
to  the  young  men — and  old  men  too — who  crowded 
around  them. 

"  Never,"  she  said,  as  she  descended  the  stairs,  "  have 
I  seen  such  a  sight  in  Les  Douleurs  before  and  never 
I  hope  shall  I  see  it  again." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A     COUNTRY     HOUSE     UP-TO-DATB. 

"Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn  ?  "—BACON,  King 
Henry  IV.  Part  I. 

BLARNEY  is  built  in  a  hollow,  as  all  houses  are  that 
date  back  beyond  the  modern  craving  for  views.  Yet 
the  prospect  from  the  windows  is  by  no  means  an  un- 
pleasant one.  They  look  along  a  kind  of  valley,  flanked 
by  wooded  ridges,  which  are  the  boast  of  the  whole 
country-side.  The  previous  owner,  from  stress  of 
poverty,  had  made  sad  gaps  in  the  line  of  trees,  and 
this  gave  the  ridges  a  somewhat  toothless  aspect.  But 
the  rich  coloring  of  the  foliage,  now  in  mid-autumn 
with  an  occasional  copper«beech  standing  out  like  a 
dagger-wound  in  the  side  of  the  forest  still  retained 
undeniable  charms  of  its  own. 

Blarney  has  been  associated  in  men's  minds,  ever 
since  Elizabethan  days,  with  the  name  of  Tyrconnel. 
There  was  a  Tyrconnel  who  was  imprisoned  for  a 
conspiracy  in  favor  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  and 
lost  sundry  lands  and  manors,  which  were  restored 
to  another  Tyrconnel,  who  fought  with  Drake  and 


164  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

covered  himself  with  wounds  and  honors  in  the 
process.  There  was  a  Tyrconnel  who  fought  for  King 
Charles,  "  bidding  the  crop-headed  parliament  swing," 
and  nearly  losing  Blarney  in  the  process.  There  was 
a  Tyrconnel  at  Sedgemoor  and  Killiecrankie,  whose 
prowess  lost  him  Wilton  for  a  time,  until  the  "  little 
gentleman  in  black  velvet "  did  his  good  work  and 
Anne  Stuart  gave  back  the  stolen  lands.  There  was  a 
Tyrconnel  with  the  Chevalier  de  Saint  George  in  1715, 
another  at  Fontenoy  and  another  at  Gladsmuir,  and 
one  of  them  was  created  Lord  Baltinglass  of  Blarney 
by  the  Exile  at  Saint  Germains.  But  they  were 
younger  sons,  and  the  head  of  the  family,  though  he 
came  within  the  suspicions,  was  shrewd  enough  to 
escape  the  molestation  of  the  "wee,  wee  German 
Lairdies." 

Through  all  the  troublous  times  of  civil  strife,  when 
loyalty  was  the  most  dangerous  of  disabilities,  this 
family  of  loyal  gentlemen  succeeded  in  maintaining, 
and  not  merely  maintaining  but  also  increasing  the  es- 
tate, through  some  erratic  whim  of  Fortune.  You  may 
trace  the  stages  of  their  prosperity  in  the  various  addi- 
tions and  adornments  which  the  house  underwent  three 
or  four  times  a  century.  They  even  survived  the  South 
Sea  Bubble  and  the  rise  of  the  Nabobs  and  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1832. 

But  the  triumph  of  the  Commercial  System  accom- 
plished what  neither  foreign  tyranny  nor  demolatry 
nor  Billy  Pitt's  taxation  had  been  able  to  do.  Rail- 
roads took  away  their  peace  of  mind,  Free  Trade  took 
away  their  income,  and  a  succession  of  Reform  Acts 
deprived  them  of  their  status  in  the  country.  The 
first  steam  whistle  was  the  signal  for  the  degeneracy 
of  their  race  ;  the  penny  post  and  a  cheap  press  relieved 
them  of  any  wish  to  be  anything  but  degenerate; 
laborers  became  members  of  parliament  and  the  Tyr- 
connels  ceased  to  take  any  interest  in  anything  that 
might  further  happen  to  the  country. 

An  ancient  and  glorious  house,  whose  traditions  of 
stainless  loyalty  and  honor  remained  almost  their  only 
heritage,  succumbed  before  the  Spirit  of  the  Age.  For- 
tune, love  of  country,  desire  for  perpetuation  died  away 


A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  UP-TO-DATE.  165 

in  the  house  of  Tyrconnel ;  and  all  its  noble  memories 
centred  in  the  person  of  one  woman,  a  distant  cousin 
of  the  last  heir  of  Blarney. 

She  was  insignificant  of  stature  and  unprepossessing 
of  appearance,  but  her  nose  had  the  true  Tyrconnel 
arch  and  she  possessed  all  the  true  Tyrconnel  charm 
of  manner.  She  seemed  to  have  resuscitated  in  her 
character  all  the  ambition  of  the  race  of  soldiers  from 
which  she  sprang.  But  their  pride  and  their  prejudices 
had  not  descended  upon  the  heiress,  and  her  ambition 
prompted  her  to  make  submission  to  the  Spirit  of  the 
Age.  She  did  so  by  marrying  a  millionaire  soap-boiler, 
named  Simpson,  and  making  him  take  her  name  as 
well  as  her  impoverished  estates.  So  great  was  her 
astuteness,  that  she  actually  succeeded  in  obtaining  the 
revival  of  the  old  title  of  Baltinglass  of  Blarney,  before 
she  died  of  consumption  a  few  years  after  giving  birth 
to  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel. 

It  was  a  triumph  which  did  her  head  credit,  if  not 
her  heart,  and  Wilfrid,  when  he  thought  it  over,  ad- 
mitted that  Blarney  might  have  passed  to  less  worthy 
hands. 

The  first  impression  of  Blarney,  as  you  approach  it 
through  the  park,  is  of  size.  It  is  a  long,  low,  strag- 
gling house  of  red  brick,  constantly  added  to  at  various 
epochs  in  its  three  century  existence,  and  presents — 
with  its  conservatories,  its  library  and  billiard-room, 
each  approached  by  long  galleries,  its  stables,  outhouses, 
and  observatory — the  appearance  of  a  village  rather 
than  a  house. 

This  was  what  struck  a  wagonetteful  of  people 
now  on  their  way  to  Blarney  as  the  guests  for  the 
first  time  of  Lord  Baltinglass.  They  included  Sir 
Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle,  M.P.,  a  professional  politician 
of  alien  origin,  who  had  lately  been  rewarded  for  a 
course  of  spread-eagle  speeches  in  the  provinces  and 
a  golden  silence  in  the  House  with  a  knighthood  in- 
stead of  the  baronetcy  he  had  asked  for  ;  Lady  Giddy 
and  her  brother,  Colonel  Lockhart ;  Mr.  Rupert  Clifford 
of  the  White  Rose  Society ;  Miss  Mudlark,  a  Canadian 
girl,  whose  acquaintance  Miss  Tyrconnel  had  made  in 


166  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

the  reading-room  of  the  Grosvenor  Hotel ;  her  friend, 
Miss  Connecticut  of  New  York ;  and  Mr.  Alfred  See- 
maim,  late  M.P.  for  Penge. 

The  drive  had  been  a  rather  merry  one,  Lady  Giddy 
making  great  fun  of  Sir  Cincinnatus  in  a  quiet  way, 
which  led  that  orator  to  think  he  was  being  flirted 
with  and  nearly  sent  everybody  else  into  convulsions 
of  laughter  ;  the  transatlantic  young  ladies  giving 
their  impressions  of  English  society  with  the  approved 
transatlantic  freedom  and  forced  originality ;  and 
Colonel  Lockhart  entertaining  all  who  could  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  listen  with  startling  stories  of  his  prow- 
ess with  rod  and  gun.  He  had  a  trick,  while  describ- 
ing his  phenomenal  shots,  of  putting  up  his  arms  in 
the  attitude  of  firing,  which  gave  the  stories  a  certain 
dramatic  point,  but  he  showed  signs  of  getting  huffy 
when,  after  a  story  that  required  more  gesticulation 
than  usual,  Seemann  asked  him  quietly,  "  Did  you  ever 
shoot  with  the  long  bow,  old  man  ?  " 

As  the  house  appeared  in  sight,  they  fell  to  discuss- 
ing their  host  and  the  manner  of  hospitality  that 
awaited  them.  "I  am  told  it  is  like  staying  at  an 
hotel,"  said  Clifford,  in  his  drawling  voice.  "  No  one 
troubles  to  entertain  you,  but  you  can  be  tolerably  com- 
fortable if  you  bribe  and  bully  the  servants  sufficiently." 

"  That's  what  1  like,"  said  Seemann,  beaming  through 
his  spectacles.  "  My  ideal  host  is  a  vulgar  beast,  who 
slaps  you  on  the  shoulders  and  tells  you  his  house  is 
'Liberty  All.'  Nothing  is  so  disagreeable  as  having 
your  day  mapped  out  for  you  by  some  one  who  does 
not  understand  your  habits." 

"  Well,  so  long  as  one  doesn't  stay  here  a  Sunday,  I 
imagine  it's  all  right,"  said  Lady  Giddy.  "  You  know 
Miss  Tyrconnel  is  a  Presbyterian  or  a  Shaker  or  some 
such  thing,  and  she  turns  the  house  into  a  sort  of  quar- 
antine,— to  fumigate  one's  sins  of  the  week,  I  suppose. 
Poor  Maria  Miles  spent  a  Sunday  here  once  upon  a 
time  and  can  tell  you  blood-curdling  tales  about  it. 
Cold  meals !  Three  times  to  church !  No  amusements 
of  any  sort  or  kind,  not  even  a  walk  in  the  garden,  and 
family  prayers  at  night  with  readings  from  Evangelical 
divines, — you  know  the  kind  of  thing  I  mean." 


A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  UP-TO-DATE.  167 

I  am  thankful  to  say  I  don't,"  said  Sir  Cincinnatus 
Spreadeagle,  ogling  Lady  Giddy  with  a  bilious  eye. 

"  What !  Not  when  you  stay  with  Lady  Cocka- 
doodledoo  ?  "  L,ady  Giddy  asked  sarcastically. 

"  I  never  do,"  he  replied  sulkily. 

"I  guess  I'd  hate  that,  wouldn't  you,  Kit?"  said 
Miss  Connecticut  to  Miss  Mudlark.  "  We'd  have  to  go 
upstairs  with  yellow-backs  and  cigarettes." 

Miss  Mudlark  put  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  and 
simpered  in  a  silly  way,  which  she  imagined  to  be  sug- 
gestive of  youth  and  innocence. 

"  Miss  Simpson  would  soon  rout  you  out  if  you  did," 
said  Lady  Giddy  in  the  abrupt  manner  she  always  as- 
sumed towards  her  own  sex. 

"  My  dear  Gerty,"  whispered  Colonel  Lockhart,  as 
they  now  drove  up  to  the  front  door,  "  you  really  must 
be  careful  not  to  call  the  old  woman  Simpson.  She 
changed  her  name  to  Tyrconnel  when  her  brother  got 
his  peerage  arid  is  frightfully  touchy  about  it." 

"  Oh !  But  I  am  a  privileged  person  about  names. 
Why,  even  Mr.  Seemann  forgives  me  when  I  pronounce 
his  in  the  English  way,"  she  added  laughing,  as  they 
entered  the  house,  "  instead  of  '  Zay-man,'  which  he 
clings  to  for  some  unknown  reason." 

They  found  Miss  Tyrconnel  alone  in  the  drawing- 
room,  sitting  upright  in  a  hard-backed  chair  with  a 
large  family  Bible  open  upon  her  knees  at  the  second 
epistle  of  Paul  the  Apostle  to  the  Corinthians.  As  the 
guests  came  in,  she  took  off  her  gold  spectacles  and 
wiped  them  very  deliberately ;  placed  a  big  red  book- 
marker, with  "  Their  worm  dieth  not "  elaborately  em- 
broidered upon  it,  between  the  pages  where  she  had 
just  left  off  reading ;  and  laid  the  volume  reverently 
on  a  music-stool  beside  'her,  so  that  the  words  "  Holy 
Bible"  might  be  conspicuously  visible  to  every  one. 

By  this  time  the  whole  party  had  come  into  the 
room  and  was  standing  grouped  around  the  hostess, 
waiting  until  the  termination  of  these  devotions  al- 
lowed her  to  greet  them.  This  at  length  she  did,  in  a 
stiff  way  intended  to  convey  an  impression  both  of 
piety  and  dignity. 

"  Will  you  be  seated  ?  "  she  asked  condescendingly. 


168  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  Oh,  not  there,  I  pray  you,'1  she  added  hastily,  as  Sir 
Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  was  settling  his  portly  person 
upon  the  music  stool  and  its  precious  burden. 

"All  right,  thanks,"  replied  the  .culprit  heartily, 
"  I'll  move  this  book,  if  you'll  allow  me,"  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  place  it  carelessly  on  the  top  of  a  pile  of 
light  operatic  music,  with  which  Violet  Tresillian  had 
been  beguiling  the  morning  hours. 

Miss  Tyrconnel  frowned,  rose  slowly,  took  up  the 
Bible  in  an  ostentatious  manner,  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  drooping  austerely  as  she  did  so,  and  stowed  it 
away  in  a  large  ormolu  cupboard  near  the  door.  Mean- 
while Sir  Cincinnatus,  rather  red  in  the  face,  was  try- 
ing to  pass  off  the  incident  by  winking  at  Lady  Giddy, 
but  she,  enjoying  his  embarrassment,  looked  at  him 
as  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  very  grave  solecism 
and  the  others  took  their  cue  from  her. 

"You  have  put  your  foot  in  it  this  time,"  Seemann 
whispered  in  his  ear.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  told 
you  to  leave  the  house  to-morrow  morning." 

Now  it  would  not  at  all  have  suited  Sir  Cincinnatus' 
arrangements  to  leave  the  house  next  morning  and 
his  jaw  fell  at  the  suggestion.  But  Miss  Tyrconnel 
showed  no  trace  of  resentment  and  was  returning  to 
her  seat  with  all  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  martyr  about 
to  offer  the  other  cheek  to  the  smiter.  She  sat  down 
again  angularly,  like  a  soldier  shouldering  arms,  arid 
then,  folding  her  hands  religiously  in  her  lap,  said,  "  I 
daresay  you  would  like  some  tea." 

Everybody's  face  brightened,  for  it  was  a  quarter 
past  four  and  it  had  been  necessary  to  lunch  very  early. 
The  faces  soon  fell  again,  however,  as  she  added,  "  Our 
tea-time  is  five  o'clock,"  as  if  it  were  a  feast  immutable 
according  to  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians. 

There  was  a  solemn,  hungry  pause,  during  which 
Miss  Mudlark  vainly  tried  to  put  up  Miss  Connecticut 
to  ask  for  whiskies  and  sodas.  Then  Miss  Tyrconnel 
said  to  the  ladies,  "Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  your 
rooms,"  and  ushered  them  out  of  the  door. 

"This  is  cheerful,"  said  Sir  Cincinnatus  gloomily. 
"  I  think  I  shall  go  and  see  if  I  haven't  got  a  flask  and 
some  biscuits  in  my  dressing-bag." 


A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  UP-TO-DATE.  169 

Just  then  the  sound  of  much  laughter  fell  agreeably 
on  their  jaded  ears  and  there  burst  in  from  the  con- 
servatory Violet  Tresillian,  Pimlico,  Gaverigan,  Cory- 
ton,  Williams  and  Wilmot,  all  in  the  highest  spirits 
after  the  tedium  of  a  game  of  golf.  The  son  of  the 
house  had  gone  to  the  station  to  meet  Mrs.  Miles  and 
Gwendolen,  who  were  arriving  that  afternoon  by  a 
later  train. 

"  What  are  you  fellows  looking  so  gloomy  about  ?  " 
asked  Gaverigan,  after  greetings  had  been  exchanged. 

"We're  ravenously  hungry  and  thirsty  and  we've 
just  been  told  we  can't  have  anything  for  three  quar- 
ters of  an  hour,"  said  Sir  Cincinnatus  dolefully. 

"  Ha  !  ha !  That's  easily  remedied,"  laughed  Gave- 
rigan, ringing  the  bell.  "  You  don't  know  the  ways 
of  the  house  yet.  Miss  Tyrconnel's  a  very  worthy 
woman,  but  no  one  takes  very  much  notice  of  her  here. 
She  is  hostess  only  by  courtesy  title.  Give  it  a  name, 
that's  all.  George  "  (this  to  the  footman),  "  take  some- 
thing to  drink  into  the  hall." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  to  be  our  host,  Harold," 
said  Colonel  Lockhart,  laughing  at  the  coolness  of  the 
order. 

"  Gaverigan's  a  host  in  himself,"  said  Seemann, 
whose  spirits  were  rapidly  reviving  at  the  prospect  of 
refreshment. 

"  Well,  really,  Mr.  Clifford,"  said  Miss  Connecticut, 
who  had  just  slipped  back  from  being  shown  her  room, 
"  I  guessed  you  were  just  joking  when  you  said  it  was 
like  staying  at  an  hotel  here,  but  I  found  my  room 
numbered  just  like  the  Metropole,  and  a  notice  stuck 
up  over  my  bed  saying  that  'All  luggage  must  be 
ready  fifteen  minutes  before  the  departure  of  the  train ' 
and  another  to  say  '  No  reading  in  bed.'  And  this 
looks  like  it  too,  calling  for  drinks  all  round  on  your 
own  hook.  Do  you  all  do  that,  or  is  it  just  one  of  Mr. 
Gaverigan's  bluffs  ?  " 

"  We  all  do  it  when  we  have  a  mind  to,"  said 
Coryton  in  confidential  tones,  as  if  imparting  a  cabinet 
secret ;  "  for  my  part,  I  infinitely  prefer  it  to  a  hotel. 
You  get  better  attendance  and  more  comforts,  with  the 
additional  advantage  that  you  have  no  reckoning  to 


170  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

pay  when  you  leave.  I  saw  an  advertisement  the  other 
day  of  a  place  at  the  seaside  that  called  itself  '  A  Home 
away  from  home,'  and  it  struck  me  that  was  a  good 
name  for  this  one.  You  have  all  the  advantage  of 
being  away  from  home  as  well  as  that  of  being  able  to 
make  yourself  entirely  at  home.  I  think  I  shall  sug- 
gest to  Lord  Baltinglass  that  lie  should  advertise  the 
place  under  that  name." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Gaverigan  joining  in 
rather  superciliously.  "  I  can't  make  out  why  every- 
body doesn't  come  and  stay  here.  I  hate  country- 
houses  as  a  rule  because  you  are  expected  either  to 
amuse  people  or  be  amused  yourself,  and  I  don't 
know  which  is  the  worse." 

Further  comment  was  cut  short  by  a  migration  to 
the  hall,  where  there  was  a  simultaneous  entrance  of 
refreshments  by  one  door  and  of  Lord  Baltinglass  with 
Lord  Southwark  by  the  other.  The  host,  although  of 
the  lowest  origin  and  having  no  pretentious  to  breeding, 
had  yet  brushed  sufficiently  with  society  to  pick  up 
something  of  the  off-hand  manners,  which  are  supposed 
to  denote  smartness  but  really  only  connote  imperti- 
nence. So  he  only  greeted  the  new  arrivals  with  a 
toss  of  the  head  and  a  careless  shake  of  the  hand  and 
led  his  companion  to  a  little  inner  room,  furnished  in 
the  Turkish  fashion,  with  luxurious  divans  and  glitter- 
ing embroidered  cushions,  where  the  very  atmosphere 
seemed  suggestive  of  Oriential  intrigues  and  privy 
conspiracy. 

"  Which  is  our  host  ?  "  whispered  Miss  Connecticut 
in  Miss  Mudlark's  ear  as  they  passed.  "  The  little 
sleek  man,  I  guess,  with  the  bone  studs  and  cardboard 
tie.  If  I  hadn't  known  he  was  a  real  lord,  I'd  have 
told  him  to  bring  me  some  ice- water." 

"Hush !  that's  the  Marquis  of  Southwark,  a  Cabinet 
Minister,  with  a  pedigree  that  reaches  back  to  the 
ancient  Britons.  You  know  they  used  to  stain  their 
bodies  with  woad  ;  that's  the  reason  his  blood's  so  blue. 
The  fat  man,  with  the  silky  beard  and  the  nose  like  a 
yam,  is  Baltinglass,  the  Soap-King.  But  I  say,  here's 
drinks  at  last.  Come  along  and  see  a  man." 


THE  CONSERVATORY.  171 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IX     THE    CONSERVATORY. 

Marriage  is  like  a  beleaguered  fortress  :  those  who  are  outside 
wish  to  enter,  while  those  who  are  inside  want  to  get  out. — ARAB 
PROVERB. 

THE  hall  was  the  favorite  resort  at  Blarney.  It 
was  a  sort  of  tea-room,  smoking-room,  cloak-room, 
boudoir  and  general  lounge  all  in  one,  and  visitors 
were  agreed  that  it  was  far  and  away  the  most  com- 
fortable room  in  the  house.  It  was  over-furnished, 
of  course  ;  every  room  was  over-furnished  there.  But 
the  furniture  aimed  a  little  more  at  comfort  than  it  did 
in  the  other  rooms,  though  it  was  still  comfort  tem- 
pered by  display.  There  were  too  many  coats  of  mail 
on  the  walls,  and  the  best  and  softest  seat  near  the 
great  open  fireplace  exposed  you  to  banging. your 
head  against  a  hallebarde  if  you  did  not  sit  down 
with  circumspection.  Even  then  you  did  not  escape 
from  the  all-pervading  coronets,  which,  indeed,  it  was 
impossible  to  escape  from  anywhere  at  Blarney. 
There  were  coronets  in  bas-relief  on  the  chairs, 
coronets  embroidered  on  the  cushions,  coronets  in 
haut-relief  on  the  carved  chimney,  coronets  on  the 
fire-screen,  even  a  coronet  in  the  pattern  of  the  Ori- 
ental rugs  and  coronets  among  the  shadows  cast  by  the 
fire-logs. 

"  Our  host  is,  at  any  rate,  determined,"  said  Clifford 
contemptuously,  "  that  we  shall  not  forget  the  respect 
due  to  his  title.  I  wonder  he  doesn't  wear  his  coronet 
at  dinner,  as  English  peers  are  generally  supposed  to 
do  by  the  American  colonists." 

You  did  not  escape  from  the  coronets,  but  they  were 
less  irritating  when  you  had  a  comfortable  chair  and 


172  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE, 

could  close  your  eyes  to  them  than  they  were,  say,  in 
the  drawing-room,  among  the  gilt  spindle-legged  chairs 
and  the  ormolu  cabinets. 

If  Blarney  was  a  village,  this  was  the  village  club. 
Everybody  came  here  when  he  was  in  a  gossiping 
mood  or  wanted  refreshments ;  letters  and  newspapers 
were  always  exposed  here ;  conspiracies  hatched ; 
characters  dissected ;  the  opposite  sex  discussed  and 
travestied  ;  and  both  sexes  married  and  given  in  mar- 
riage by  kind  observers  in  the  most  grotesque  and 
unsuitable  manner  imaginable. 

While  the  corks  were  popping  in  the  hall,  the  two 
peers  were  deep  in  discussion  about  the  apportionment 
of  certain  "  safe  seats,"  over  which  their  control  was 
in  reality  not  quite  so  complete  as  they  imagined. 

"I  suppose  you'll  want  the  Bantam  Division  of 
Hodgeshire  for  that  boy  of  yours,  Baltinglass,"  said 
Lord  Southwark,  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  leaning  the 
back  of  his  head  against  the  chimney-piece.  "  Well,  I 
make  no  objection,  but  I  shall  count  on  your  support 
in  West  Southwark  for  some  plans  of  my  own.  If 
we  are  to  do  anything  in  either  of  those  places,  we 
must  agree  to  pull  together." 

"  Quite  so,"  returned  the  other,  who  had  not  changed 
his  manner  of  speech  since  he  boiled  soap,  "but  I'd  like 
to  'ear  what  your  plans  are." 

"Lord  Pimlico  is  to  have  the  seat  eventually,  as 
you  are  doubtless  aware,"  began  Lord  Southwark 
stiffly.  "  Eventually,"  he  repeated,  as  the  other  gave 
a  contemptuous  grunt.  "  I  am  quite  aware  that  he  is 
not  ready  to  enter  Parliament  yet.  I  see  nothing  to 
smile  at  in  what  I  am  saying.  He  does  not  himself 
wish  it.  But  in  a  few  years,  when  he  has  sown  his 
wild  oats,  he  will  do  it  to  please  me.  The  thing  is 
expected,  and  I  shall  make  a  point  of  it  with  him." 

"And  in  the  meantime?" 

"  In  the  meantime,  I  must  find  some  warming-pan 
or  other.  Wrigglesworth  is  positive  that  since  Mr. 
Loose-Fyshe  put  pepper  into  a  cream-tart,  the  Pharisees 
of  Southwark  won't  support  him  and,  unless  he  retires 
(which  he  refuses  to  do)  it  will  simply  be  a  walk  over 
for  the  Conservative  nominee.  If  I  had  a  good  private 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY.  173 

secretary,  whom  I  could  trust,  he  should  have  the 
seat  for  the  next  three  or  four  years.  But  I  am  in 
despair  about  private  secretaries.  They  are  all  either 
sharps  or  flats  and  I  am  rapidly  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion that  one  has  less  trouble  in  the  long  run  by 
being  one's  own  private  secretary." 

"lean  recommend  you  a  capital  fellow.  He's  a  most 
high-principled  young  man  and  as  clever  as  they  make 
'em.  A  son  of  'that  old  fox,  Spencer  Coryton,  who 
was  Judge-Advocate-General  in  one  of  Disraeli's 
administrations." 

"I  remember  him, — one  of  those  professional  minis- 
ters who  have  done  so  much  to  degrade  political  life. 
A  useful  varlet,  but  not  to  be  trusted  round  the  corner." 

"  Well,  you  can  trust  the  boy.  He's  as  good  as  gold. 
I  don't  mind  admitting  to  you  that  I  am  under  some 
obligations  to  him  and  I'd  go  a  good  bit  out  of  my 
way  to  do  him  a  good  turn.  If  you'd  make  him  your 
secretary  and  put  him  in  for  West  Southwark,  you'd 
not  regret  it,  I'll  warrant  ye." 

"  I  will  think  your  suggestion  over  and  speak  with 
you  again  upon  it.  I  saw  the  youth  once  at  Cambridge 
and  was  favorably  impressed.  I  suppose  he  would 
not  exact  a  heavy  salary,  eh  ?  I  am  not  a  believer  in 
over-paying  people." 

"  He  must  have  a  certain  income  of  his  own,  but 
you'll  find  him  well  worth  all  you  like  to  give  him. 
I'm  not  one  that  throws  good  money  away,  as  you 
may  imagine,  but  whenever  I've  given  him  a  check  for 
a  hundred  or  so,  I've  found  him  fairly  earn  it." 

Meanwhile,  the  subject  of  this  dialogue  was  occupied 
with  very  different  considerations.  Coryton  and 
Violet  were  in  the  billiard-room,  organizing  a  kind  of 
extempore  theatricals  which  Lady  Giddy  had  proposed 
and  every  one  carried  by  acclamation. 

"  It's  a  sort  of  Dumb  Crambo,  if  you  know  what 
that  means,"  Violet  was  explaining  to  Miss  Connecti- 
cut, "only  it  isn't  dumb.  We  invent  our  dialogues  as 
we  go  along.  First,  we  choose  a  word.  Then  we 
choose  words  beginning  with  each  of  its  letters  and 
act  them  one  after  the  other.  Then  we  act  the  word 
itself,  and  the  audience  has  to  guess  it," 


174  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  I  always  find  in  these  sort  of  entertainments,  the 
great  difficulty  is  to  get  an  audience,"  said  Mr.  See- 
mann  garrulously.  "  People  are  ready  to  take  any 
part  you  like  to  oft'er  them,  except  that  one.  That's 
where  I  come  in.  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  be 
allowed  to  play  audience." 

"  Yes,  you'll  do  very  well,"  Violet  rattled  on.  "  Now 
are  you  quite  sure  you  all  understand?" 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  it's  a  little  beyond  me,"  put  in 
Miss  Mudlark,  who  felt  she  had  not  received  sufficient 
attention  during  the  last  ten  minutes. 

"  You  tiresome  child.  I'll  take  a  word  as  an  example. 
Suppose  we  say  Noah." 

"  Let  me  see.  He  was  the  man  that  found  Joseph 
among  the  bulrushes,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  See  here,  Kit,  you  just  be  careful,"  said  Miss  Con- 
necticut, shaking  a  warning  finger  at  her  friend.  "  If 
Miss  Tyrconnel  heard  you,  she'd  pretty  well  pull  the 
house  down  about  your  ears." 

"  Do  you  never  play  with  Noah's  Arks  in  the  wilds 
of  Canada  ? "  asked  Violet  contemptuously.  "  Now 
let  me  see.  N,  O,  A,  H.  N.  might  be  Nebuchadnezzar 
eating  grass.  That's  rather  an  effective  scene.  We 
had  it  at  Caradoc  Castle  last  year.  O.  might  be  Titus 
Gates  in  the  pillory ;  A.  Anthony  and  Cleopatra, — 
with  Miss  Haviland  as  Cleopatra,"  she  added  mischiev- 
ously. "  Then  H. — Henry  the  Eighth, — Pirn  is  ad- 
mirably cut  out  for  that  part.  Last  of  all,  the  word 
itself,  Noah,  with  animals  and  rainbows  and  all  that 
kind  of  game." 

"And  here's  the  very  man  to  play  the  leading 
part,"  exclaimed  Lady  Giddy,  clapping  her  hands,  as 
Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  entered  the  room.  "  Don't 
you  think  he'd  make  an  admirable  Noah  after  dinner 
with  a  bottle  of  port  under  each  arm  and  two  more 
inside  him  ?  " 

Further  consultations  were  interrupted  by  the  dress- 
ing-bell, and  in  five  minutes  everybody  had  gone  up- 
stairs. Violet  and  Coryton  were  the  last  to  leave. 
Just  as  she  was  skipping  off  after  the  little  Yankee, 
he  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  said  with  unusual 
tenderness,  "  Vixie,  please  arrange  for  us  to  have  a. 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY.  175 

quiet  chat  before  we  leave  Blarney.  I  have  got  no  end 
to  say  to  you  and  it's  so  hard  to  get  a  moment  alone 
with  you  in  this  rabble." 

Violet  looked  up  at  him  quickly  with  a  half  grateful 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  checking  the  sentimental 
mood  which  had  begun  to  steal  over  her,  "  we'll  get 
Gwen  to  sing  after  dinner,  and  then  slink  out  and 
spoon  in  the  conservatory.  D'you  know,  Poley,  old 
boy,  I  like  you  better  than  any  of  them.  I  wish  you 
had  ten  thousand  a  year.  'Pon  my  word  I  do." 

"  As  long  as  we  have  enough  for  our  modest  wants," 
he  returned  half  ironically,  "  why  sigh  for  more  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  our  wants  ain't  modest,  that's  what  plays 
the  deuce  with  us,"  she  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know.  A  little  box  of  a  house  in  Mayfair, 
a  good  cook,  a  smart  brougham  and  a  long-suffering 
set  of  tradesmen.  We  could  do  that  on  two  or  three 
thousand  a  year." 

Violet's  face  lighted  up.  Well,  if  he  had  got  that, 
it  might  really  be  worth  while.  They  would  certainly 
get  on  very  well  together,  and  Coryton  was  a  man 
who  might  easily  "  arrive  "  some  day,  as  they  say  over 
the  water.  Meanwhile,  she  hated  having  to  dress  in 
a  hurry  and  it  was  getting  late.  So  she  waved  her 
hand  airily  at  him  and  flew  up  the  broad  stairs  three 
and  four  at  a  time. 

When  she  came  down,  she  was  evidently  well 
satisfied  with  the  prowess  of  her  maid  and  peacocked 
into  the  room  with  all  the  self-confidence  engendered 
by  a  perfectly  fitting  dress  perfectly  put  on.  It  was 
made  of  pale  rose-pink  crepe-de-Chine,  picked  up  at 
a  sale  at  Liberty's.  The  skirt  was  very  full  and 
fluffy,  caught  up  here  and  there  by  bunches  of  pearls, 
— not  ropes  of  pearls,  like  Disraeli's  heroines,  but 
little  strings  of  them,  at  three  and  eleven-pence  the 
yard.  Her  baby-bodice,  perhaps  cut  a  little  too  low, 
was  drawn  in  by  a  wide  stay  embroidered  with  pearls. 
It  was  a  triumph  of  art  over  impecuniosity  and, 
except  to  a  very  well  initiated  observer,  conveyed  an 
impression  of  unstinted  dressmakers.  No  one*  would 
have  guessed  that  it  was  all  the  work  of  the  little 


176  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

French  dressmaker,  whom  she  had  pulled  out  of  a 
ticklish  scrape  at  Trouville  one  summer  and  taken  on 
as  her  maid  and  devoted  worshipper  at  twenty  pounds 
a  year. 

Violet's  figure  was  now  well-developed ;  she  had  a 
long  wasp-like  waist  and,  as  she  came  smiling  into 
the  room,  Wilmot,  who  had  met  some  of  the  Paris 
painter-men  and  consequently  liked  to  air  his  knowl- 
edge of  art,  whispered  in  Williams'  ear  that  she  re- 
minded him  of  a  Van  Beers'  girl  in  a  Christmas  num- 
ber. Williams,  who  had  not  been  to  Paris,  would  have 
it  that  she  was  more  like  a  creation  of  Sir  Frederick 
Leighton  and  pointed  conclusively  to  the  pink  velvet 
bands  that  restrained  the  wealth  of  golden  hair, 
apparently  threatening  to  burst  out  as  from  a  horn  of 
plenty. 

Violet's  hair  was  the  best  among  her  "  points,"  as 
Pirn  and  his  cousin  Theodora  Gargoyle  said  when  they 
discussed  her,  and  Julie,  her  maid,  certainly  knew  how 
to  make  the  most  of  it,  as  she  did  of  everything  about 
her  mistress. 

When  Violet  came  into  the  drawing-room,  she 
found  an  unusual  commotion  going  on.  It  was  all' 
owing  to  Miss  Tyrconnel,  who,  by  way  of  marking  her 
resentment  at  the  number  of  strange  guests  invited  to 
the  house,  had  announced  that  she  hadn't  the  ghost  of 
an  idea  how  she  was  to  send  them  all  in  to  dinner. 
Lady  Giddy  precipitated  herself  upon  the  opportunity : 
let  Miss  Tyrconnel  leave  everything  to  her  and  it 
should  all  be  done  most  admirably.  Miss  Tyrconnel 
did  not  quite  like  the  idea,  but,  like  most  self-made 
people,  she  had  a  lurking  sense  of  respect  for  her 
social  superiors,  and  besides,  after  her  incautious 
avowal,  it  was  not  easy  to  back  out  of  the  offer.  So 
Lady  Giddy  announced  to  all  and  sundry  that,  instead 
of  going  in  to  dinner  in  the  usual  orthodox  way,  they 
were  to  go  in  by  lot.  It  was  quite  the  latest  chic,  she 
assured  Lord  Baltinglass,  who  seemed  rather  doubt- 
ful about  it.  The  Broadakers  always  did  it  when 
they  had  a  big  house  party  and  Prince  Pumpenheim 
had  thought  it  very  funny  during  his  last  visit  to  Eng- 
land, 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY.  177 

This  had  silenced  the  host's  last  scruple  and  here 
were  two  hats  on  the  table  full  of  little  folded  bits  of 
paper.  One  contained  the  names  of  various  historical 
or  mythological  male  characters  and  the  other  those  of 
the  corresponding  female  ones.  All  the  men  had  to 
draw  from  one  hat  and  all  the  ladies  from  the  other ; 
then  they  found  themselves  more  or  less  grotesquely 
paired  off. 

Screams  of  laughter  greeted  the  announcement  of 
each  fresh  draw,  culminating  in  unending  merriment 
when  Sir  Cincirmatus  Spreadeagle  was  drawn  as 
Romeo  to  Miss  Tyrconnel's  Juliet.  Lord  Baltinglass 
smiled  grimly  when  he  found  himself  allotted  the  char- 
acter of  Adam  to  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles'  Eve,  asking — 
to  Miss  Tyrconnel's  grave  concern, — whether  the  part 
was  to  be  played  in  costume.  Every  one  agreed  that 
Mr.  Rupert  Clifford  and  Lady  Elizabeth  Gargoyle,  a 
stout  lady  with  Titian-like  hair,  were  hardly  used  in 
being  sent  in  as  Jumbo  and  Alice,  for  their  worst  ene- 
mies could  not  accuse  them  of  excessive  embonpoint; 
but  Coryton  and  Violet  as  Faust  and  Marguerite  met 
with  general  approval,  as  did  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  and 
Gwendolen  Haviland  in  the  role  of  Darby  and  Joan. 
Miss  Mauresk  and  Colonel  Lockhart  were  Venus  and 
Adonis,  the  latter  a  somewhat  juvenile  part  for  the 
superannuated  beau.  Sir  Edward  Tresillian  thought 
the  game  rather  funny  until  he  drew  Punch  to  Miss 
Connecticut's  Judy.  Mr.  Seemann  was  no  less  ridicu- 
lous, though  he  thought  himself  more  fortunate,  as 
Anthony  with  Miss  Mudlark  for  an  incongruous  Cleo- 
patra. Fimlico  and  Miss  Theodora  Gargoyle  were  the 
Bulbul  and  the  Rose ;  Cupid  and  Psyche  were  repre- 
sented :  Cupid  by  a  little  shrivelled  up  old  man  in  a 
fez,  who  turned  out  to  be  the  Turkish  ambassador,  and 
Psyche  by  the  "  Archdeaconess,"  who  had  been  asked 
by  Miss  Tyrconnel  as  a  return  for  her  kindness  to 
Wilfrid  at  Les  Douleurs ;  Gaverigan  and  Lady  Giddy 
were  Fox  and  Goose;  Lord  Southwark  and  Lady 
Vieille  were  the  Mouse  and  the  Lion,  or  Lion-hunter, 
as  Lady  Giddy  said  it  ought  to  be.  Owing  to  a  dearth 
of  ladies  there  were  two  extra  men's  tickets,  which  ap- 
12 


178  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

propriately  enough,  sent  in  Williams  and  Wilmot  as 
David  and  Jonathan. 

When  the  various  characters  at  last  made  their  way 
into  the  dining-room,  they  found  cards  on  the  plates 
with  their  new  names ;  Jumbo  and  Joan  were  next 
each  other,  while  the  Fox  was  in  dangerous  proximity 
to  the  Bulbul.  Adam  and  Eve  were  subjected  to  great 
chaff  when  apple-tart  came  round.  Altogether  the 
pastime  afforded  an  agreeable  diversion,  but  Miss  Tyr- 
connel  registered  a  mental  vow  that  she  would  never 
tolerate  such  foolery  again,  and  when,  later  on,  Lady 
Giddy  proposed  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  in  the  garden 
by  moonlight,  she  entered  an  abrupt  and  disconcerting 
negative. 

Coryton  and  Violet  were,  however,  able  to  arrange 
a  small  variation  of  that  game  for  themselves  after 
dinner  on  a  cosy  settee  behind  a  big  palm  in  the  con- 
servatory. 

"  Well,  Poley,  my  charming  Faust-up-to-date,  what 
have  you  to  tell  your  Marguerite  ? "  she  asked  play- 
fully, when  they  were  settled. 

"  Something  she  knows  very  well  already,"  he  replied 
taking  up  her  chubby  little  hand  in  his  and  looking 
intently  at  it,  half  sentimentally,  half  wonderingly. 

"  Yes,  but  is  it  prudent  ? "  she  said  thoughtfully, 
looking  out  into  the  moonbeams,  which  danced  in  the 
splashing  fountain  just  outside.  "  We  are  very  good 
friends  and  should  probably  remain  so.  That  is  the 
best  safeguard  for  a  happy  marriage.  It  can  give 
melodramatic  love  a  stone  and  a  beating,  as  Theodora 
would  say.  But  couldn't  we  both  do  a  great  deal 
better  for  ourselves  elswhere  ?  Wouldn't  it  be  crim- 
inally idiotic  not  to  marry  for  tin  ?  " 

"  No.  That  is  the  mistake  made  by  what  are  called 
'fly  jugginses.'  The  world  is  not  divided  into  two 
broad  divisions,  sharpers  and  jays.  There  are  all  sorts 
of  gradations  between  them.  Perhaps  the  commonest 
is  the  juggins  by  nature,  who  has  been  sufficiently, 
emancipated  to  fancy  himself  '  fly.'  The  '  fly  juggins ' 
is  a  far  commoner  type  than  people  suppose.  The 
three-card-trick  is  directed  solely  against  him.  He  is 
shown  the  corner  turned  down  and  fancies  he  is  going 


IN  THE    ONSEEVATOEY.  179 

to  cheat  the  three- card-trick  man,  with  the  result  that 
he  only  gets  cheated  himself.  Astuteness  is  all  very 
well,  but  it  is  not  elastic  beyond  a  certain  point  and 
may  be  overdone." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  hearing  about  your  brush  with 
sharpers  on  the  way  to  Newmarket,  but  I  don't  think 
you  came  second  best  out  of  that  encounter.  However, 
come  back  to  your  muttons,  meaning  me." 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say,  that  people  who  marry 
for  money  only,  are  'fly  jugginses,'  who  overreach 
themselves.  After  all  we  should  be  comfortably  off, 
as  I  was  saying  before  dinner,  and  I  don't  see  what 
more  we  should  need.  You've  got  money,  or  will  have, 
and  I  have  a  certain  amount.  We  shan't  starve  or  be 
restricted  to  three-course  dinners  or  driven  to  live  in 
a  flat  at  Putney  !  " 

"  No,  I  am  sure  we  should  have  a  very  good  time  as 
long  as  things  went  smoothly.  But  what  do  you  pro- 
pose? Not  that  we  should  place  ourselves  in  the 
ridiculous  position  of  telling  the  world  we  are  en- 
gaged?" 

"  Would  that  be  so  very  ridiculous  ?  "  asked  Coryton 
rather  hurt. 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  should  be  ridiculous.  But 
most  people  are  when  they're  engaged.  I  almost 
think  I  should  feel  shy,  though  I  never  have  yet.  If  we 
are  to  be  engaged,  let's  only  announce  it  about  a  day 
before  the  wedding." 

"  Then  we'd  get  no  presents." 

"  Well,  a  week." 

"  All  right.  But  between  ourselves  it's  an  engage- 
ment all  the  same,  isn't  it,  Vixie  ?  Just  give  me  one 
little  kiss  to  seal  the  bargain." 

Violet  gave  a  slight  blush,  an  unheard-of  thing  for 
her.  She  had  kissed  many  young  men  before  now 
among  her  acquaintances,  but  somehow  this  seemed 
different.  However,  after  a  slight  show  of  hesitation, 
she  put  up  her  cherry  lips,  with  her  eyes  sparkling  in 
quite  an  unnatural  way,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  trem- 
ble in  her  eyelashes  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

Just  at  this  psychological  moment,  however,  the 
spell  was  rudely  broken  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  de 


180  THE  GEE  EN  BAY  TREE. 

Courcy  Miles,  who  had  heard  many  inquiries  for 
Violet  to  play  the  game  they  arranged  before  dinner, 
and  had  good-naturedly  volunteered  to  find  her. 
Violet,  for  once  taken  off  her  guard,  answered  her 
rudely,  with  some  display  of  impatience. 

"Can't  you  see  that  I'm  busy?"  she  remonstrated. 
"  Why  can't  you  mind  your  own  concerns  and  leave 
me  alone,  instead  of  bursting  in  like  a  hurricane  just 
when  I  was  cosy  and  amused  ?  You  quite  startled  me." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  said  Mrs.  Miles  drily,  as  she  turned 
upon  her  heel. 

When  she  was  gone,  the  spirit  of  their  dream  was 
altered  and  neither  proposed  to  recommence  the  inter- 
rupted kiss.  They  said  nothing  for  a  while,  but  sat 
staring  moodily  at  the  tips  of  their  toes.  At  last  Violet 
said  in  a  constrained  way,  "  Let's  go  to  the  drawing- 
room,"  and  they  stepped  blinkingly  into  the  over-lighted 
house. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    MELTING    OF    THE    ICE-MAIDEN. 

Hide,  O,  hide  those  hills  of  snow, 

Which  thy  frozen  bosom  bears, 
On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  grow 

Are  of  those  that  April  wears  ! 
But  first  set  my  poor  heart  free, 
Bound  in  those  icy  chains  by  thee. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

Virtue,  like  an  iceberg,  chills  most  when  it  thaws. — PICHEGKU. 

GWENDOLEN  now  met  Wilfrid  for  the  first  time  since 
his  abrupt  departure  from  Cambridge  seven  months 
before.  She  had  made  a  great  show  of  reluctance  about 
accepting  Lord  Baltinglass's  invitation  to  Blarney, 
much  to  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles's  amazement  and  dis- 
gust. But  in  her  heart  of  hearts  the  girl  knew  that  she 
would  yield.  She  had  not  known  how  dear  Tyrconnel 


THE  MELTING  OF  THE  ICE-MAIDEN.  181 

was  to  her  until  they  were  parted,  apparently  for- 
ever. 

She  had  the  bump  of  veneration  very  strongly  de- 
veloped, and  numbered  respect  for  the  powers  that  be, 
such  as  college  authorities,  among  the  highest  duties. 
Like  all  those  who  have  not  yet  tasted  the  fruit  of  the 
tree  of  good  and  evil,  she  was  utterly  intolerant  of  the 
smallest  wandering  from  the  path  of  duty  and  would 
admit  no  distinction  between  the  most  heinous  moral 
offences  and  the  most  trivial  peccadilloes.  One  of  her 
favorite  phrases  was,  that  that  there  are  no  such  things 
as  little  sins. 

There  was  also  a  certain  amount  of  injured  pride  in 
her  resentment  against  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel.  She  had 
not  exactly  mapped  out  for  herself  the  role  of  the 
beautiful  saint  marrying  and  reclaiming  the  dissolute 
rake,  but  her  schemes  were  leavened  by  some  such  idea. 
He  was  weak,  but  well  meaning ;  she  was  a  Christian 
woman.  Was  he  not  to  be  snatched  as  a  brand  from 
the  burning  and  by  her  intervention  ?  Was  she  not  to 
be  the  humble  instrument  of  rescuing  him  for  the 
church  of  Christ  and  guarding  his  goings  so  that  his 
footsteps  slipped  not  ?  She  had  been  so  happy  in  that 
thought,  so  proud  of  her  first  success  as  an  evangelist, 
and  at  the  very  first  trial  all  her  hopes,  all  her  calcu- 
lations, all  her  triumphs  had  come  to  an  abrupt  end  like 
a  child's  house  of  cards. 

In  her  moments  of  austerest  self-communing,  she  at- 
tributed the  failure  to  her  pride  and  thanked  Heaven 
for  the  timely  lesson.  But  even  then  she  was  still 
woman  enough  to  feel  that  the  fault  of  her  failure  was 
Tyrconnel's  and  to  cherish  a  grievance  against  him  for 
her  disappointment.  He  had  been  in  such  a  hurry  to 
forsake  the  narrow  path,  almost  before  the  vows  were 
silent  upon  his  lips.  How  little  in  earnest  he  must 
have  been,  how  idle  must  have  been  his  promises  of 
amendment,  his  dedication  of  himself  to  the  service  of 
God !  And  if  so,  how  idle  too  perhaps  his  passionate 
protestations  of  love  for  her.  She  had  said  she  would 
trust  him  and  he  had  been  so  hasty  to  prove  to  her 
that  he  was  utterly  untrustworthy.  All  this  and  more 
she  had  written  in  her  precise  style  to  him  while  he 


182  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

was  at  Les  Douleurs.  Pages  and  pages  of  remonstrance 
and  reflection  and  lamentation  on  that  horrid  "  foreign  " 
writing-paper,  where  all  the  ink  shows  through. 

"Good  Heavens  !"  Tyrconnel  had  thought  to  him- 
self, in  the  intervals  between  his  moods  of  infatuation 
and  penitence,  "  if  she  makes  such  an  outcry  over  my 
being  sent  down  from  Cambridge  for  keeping  late 
hours,  what  would  she  not  say  if  she  knew  of  my 
short-lived  intrigue  with  Sally  Popkins  or  even  of  my 
passion  for  gambling  ?  " 

He  reflected  bitterly  that  it  was  always  so  with 
religious  people  :  the  gospel  of  forgiveness  was  a  favor- 
ite theory  with  them,  but  most  uncongenial  in  prac- 
tice. 

Gwendolen  only  required  a  certain  amount  of  pressing 
to  take  her  to  Blarney.  Coryton  had  told  Wilfrid  at 
Les  Douleurs  that  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  might  be 
trusted  to  see  to  that,  but  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  with 
all  her  boasted  social  astuteness,  was  painfully  desti- 
tute of  tact  in  dealing  with  such  a  girl  as  Gwendolen 
and  her  dogmatic  methods  of  argument  had  often  had 
the  effect  of  confirming  the  girl  in  her  rebellions.  It 
was  perhaps  the  strongest  proof  of  Gwendolen's  real 
wish  to  come  to  Blarney,  that  she  consented  to  do  so 
in  spite  of  her  aunt's  ill-judged  nagging. 

Anyhow,  here  was  Gwendolen  at  Blarney  after  all.' 
It  was  not  until  she  was  actually  011  her  way  there 
that  she  fully  realized  what  a  concession  she  was  mak- 
ing. By  all  rights,  he  should  have  come  to  her  and 
abased  himself  before  her,  like  the  prodigal  that  he 
was,  and  implored  her  to  be  graciously  pleased  to  accord 
her  forgiveness.  And  that  forgiveness  she  would  not 
have  required  very,  very  long  persuasion  to  induce  her 
to  concede.  Her  pride  rebelled  again  at  the  idea  of 
coming  thus  to  his  house,  as  his  guest,  in  obedience  to 
his  command,  at  the  very  first  beck.  And  yet  there 
remained  in  her  a  sufficiency  of  sex  to  make  her  heart 
confess  that,  in  spite  of  all,  she  was  glad  to  have  con- 
sented. Do  what  she  would,  her  heart  leaped  joyously 
within  her  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  "  her  boy  "  once 
more. 

Their  first  meeting  was  somewhat  constrained,  for 


THE  MELTING  OF  THE  ICE-MAIDEN.  183 

he  had  missed  her  at  the  station  after  all  and,  as  a 
number  of  people  were  present,  it  was  impossible  to 
make  much  display  of  emotion. 

"  I  hear  you  have  become  quite  a  traveller,  Wilfrid," 
Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  exclaimed  with  a  show  of 
heartiness.  "  Gwen  and  I  have  been  looking  forward 
so  much  to  getting  you  to  give  us  all  your  experiences. 
Can't  say  the  German  waters  have  agreed  with  you, 
though,"  she  added,  imagining  she  was  displaying  a 
tender  solicitude.  "  You'll  have  to  take  to  cub-hunt- 
ing or  something  to  get  you  back  your  color." 

"  How  d'you  do,  Wilfrid  ?" 

"  Why,  Gwen  ! " 

That  was  all,  but  their  eyes  lighted  up  as  they  shook 
hands,  and  Lady  Giddy  whispered  to  Violet  that  she 
believed  there  must  be  something  in  it  after  all. 

Violet  smiled.     "  Poor  old  Pigeon,"  was  all  she  said. 

During  dinner  the  conversation  had  been  boisterous 
and  general.  Tyrconnel  tried  to  engage  Gwendolen 
upon  such  a  safe  topic  as  a  recent  discovery  of  pottery 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  she  answered  in  a  way  that, 
without  actually  conveying  a  snub,  made  it  almost  im- 
possible to  follow  up  the  subject.  Moreover,  she  seemed 
to  prefer  to  discuss  Jacobitism  with  her  other  neigh- 
bor, Rupert  Clifford,  and  to  enter  upon  a  dogmatic 
eulogy  of  Hampden,  which  sadly  disconcerted  that 
very  polite  gentleman. 

It  was  not  until  some  time  after  dinner,  just  when 
that  little  scene  was  being  enacted  between  Coryton 
and  Violet  in  the  conservatory,  that  she  found  the 
opportunity  she  had  been  seeking  of  having  private 
speech  with  Wilfrid  in  one  of  the  many  nooks  for 
which  Blarney  was  famous. 

"  You  may  have  thought  me  rude,"  she  said,  settling 
herself  in  a  window  seat  of  the  library  and  making 
room  for  him  by  her  side,  "  but  I  couldn't  '  make 
talk '  with  you  at  dinner  on  all  sorts  of  trivial  sub- 
jects, when  my  heart  was  full  and  sad." 

"  Sad !  Gwendolen,"  he  whispered  reproachfully  ; 
"  I  hoped  that  you  were  happy  to  see  me  again,  after 
all  these  ages.  I  thought  you  would  be  content  to  let 
bygones  be  bygones." 


184  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  Ah !  Wilfrid,  bygones  never  can  be  completely 
bygones.  One  may  forgive,  but  one  cannot  so  easily 
forget.  The  wounds  of  the  heart  are  far  more  serious 
and  slow  to  heal  than  those  of  the  body.  I  am  of 
a  different  temperament  to  you.  I  believe  you  suffer 
acutely  and  then  shake  your  suffering  off,  never  to 
think  of  it  again.  That  I  cannot  do.  What  I  have 
suffered  all  these  months  you  can  never  know.  If  I  live 
to  be  a  hundred,  I  shall  never  forget  the  shame  of  it  all." 

"  The  shame  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  shame.  We  were  to  be  all  in  all  to 
each  other,  to  fight  the  good  fight  side  by  side. 
You  had  promised  me  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  yet 
scarcely  were  you  out  of  my  sight  than  I  heard  of 
your  backsliding.  Some  dreadful  orgy  far  into  the 
night,  bringing  you  into  conflict  with  the  authorities 
and  compelling  them  to  expel  you  from  the  University. 
The  details  of  that  affair  I  have  never  sought  to  know. 
The  shame  of  it  was  enough  for  me.  As  we  then 
stood  to  one  another,  your  shame  was  my  shame." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  upon  me  for  the  folly  of  an  un- 
guarded hour." 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  an  '  unguarded  hour.'  I 
have  no  patience  with  such  nonsense.  You  forget 
the  pain  to  me  of  having  so  misplaced  my  confidence. 
I  thought  I  could  trust  you,  Wilfrid.  It  was  hard, — 
very,  very  hard, — to  find  how  unworthy  you  were  of 
being  loved." 

"  Oh !  Gwen,"  was  all  he  could  say,  in  a  low,  choked 
voice. 

"  Yes,  Wilfrid,"  she  replied,  looking  him  full  in  the 
face  with  her  big,  mournful  guardian  angel's  eyes. 
"It  has  been  a  sad,  sad  time.  It  hurts  me  even  now 
to  think  of  it.  I  am  ready  to  believe  that  all  this  has 
been  a  lesson  to  you,  I  will  try  to  believe  that  you  are 
going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  But  the  old  trust  is 
(lead  and  cannot  be  brought  back  to  life  and,  with- 
out that  trust,  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  perfect 
love.  Until  you  have  given  practical  proof  of  your 
repentance,  how  can  you  expect  me  to  believe  in  you? 
It  is  heart-breaking  to  me  to  have  to  speak  to  you  like 
this,  but  what  else  can  I  say  ?  " 


THE  MELTING  OF  THE  ICE-MAIDEN.          185 

"  Say  that  you  forgive  me." 

"It  is  not  of  me  that  you  must  ask  forgiveness. 
There  is  only  One  who  can  forgive  sins." 

And  she  turned  up  the  whites  of  her  big  eyes. 

"  Give  me  a  chance,  Gwen,"  he  pleaded  humbly. 
"  I  have  had  a  lesson  which  has  made  an  altered  man 
of  me.  Let  us  forget  all  about  it." 

"  That  can  scarcely  be." 

And  she  pressed  her  beautiful  lips  austerely  together. 

"  But  you  do  not  throw  me  over  entirely.  It  is  not 
all  at  an  end  between  us.  Only  tell  me  there  is  still 
hope  for  me." 

"  There  is  always  hope.  Hope  remains  long  after  all 
else  is  lost." 

"  You  will  marry  me  some  day,  if — if  you  find  that 
you  can  believe  in  me  again,"  he  pleaded  with  gather- 
ing joy,  as  he  read  the  light  of  love  beaming  on  him 
from  her  bright  eyes. 

"  That  is  for  the  future  to  decide,"  she  replied  in 
softer  tones  than  she  had  yet  used. 

The  hum  of  the  guests  in  the  drawing-room 
sounded  very  far  off.  There  was  a  solemn  hush  in 
the  lofty  room  with  its  wilderness  of  books ;  only  the 
wood-fire  crackled  cheerfully  in  the  big  old-fashioned 
grate  and  set  bogie-like  shadows  dancing  in  the 
corners  of  the  room.  The  two  reading-lamps,  with 
their  scarlet  shades,  gave  out  a  dim  rosiness,  which 
transfigured — as  limelight  transfigures — the  calm, 
holy  expression  of  the  ice-maiden.  It  was  the  very 
scene,  with  all  appropriate  surroundings,  for  a  declara- 
tion. Soft  music  was  alone  required  to  make  it 
theatrically  complete.  The  sensation  of  this  came  over 
them  both  suddenly  and  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  with  all  the  old  tenderness.  A  blush  spread 
over  Gwendolen's  face,  giving  it  another  and  a  deeper 
coating  of  color  to  that  which  she  owed  to  the 
scarlet  lamp  shades.  His  hand  stole  into  hers  and 
she  made  an  instinctive  movement  as  if  to  withdraw 
it,  then  changed  her  mind  and  let  it  rest  in  his. 
He  bent  down  and  reverently  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her 
long,  white  fingers. 

"I  love  you,  Wilfrid,"  she  said  with  infinite   ten- 


186  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

derness.  "  I  love  you  very,  very  dearly.  I  only  wish  you 
to  be  true  to  yourself.  I  pray  night  and  morning, 
and  shall  pray  so  long  as  I  have  breath,  that  you 
may  have  grace  to  withstand  temptation." 

"  Hullo,  there  you  are,"  Lord  Pimlico's  hearty  voice 
broke  startlingly  upon  their  ears  as  they  came  out 
into  the  corridor.  "  We've  been  looking  for  you 
everywhere.  They're  getting  up  a  game  of  cutlets. 
Rippin'  fun.  Come  along.  The  Archdeaconess  began 
the  game  on  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle's  knees  and 
has  been  exacting  the  funniest  forfeits  from  that 
stupid  little  Seemann." 

And  he  hurried  on  after  his  cousin,  Theodora  Gargoyle, 
who  had  a  little  more  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things 
than  he  and  preferred  not  to  wait  Gwendolen's  answer. 

"  Yes,  come  along,"  said  Violet,  who  had  come  up 
just  then,  on  her  way  from  the  conservatory  with 
Coryton.  "  We  needn't  join  in  Pirn's  mad  games  and 
one  can  always  talk  best  in  a  rowdy  crowd." 

"Have  you  just  come  into  a  fortune,  Pidge,  old 
chap  ?  "  asked  Coryton  with  a  cold  malevolent  gleam 
in  his  eyes  that  belied  the  geniality  of  his  words. 
He  took  TyrconnePs  arm  and  they  fell  into  line  behind 
the  girls,  who  were  turning  their  steps  towards  the 
drawing-room . 

"Fortune  seems  at  last  to  be  turning  her  nose 
my  way,"  replied  Tyrconnel,  blushing  violently.  "  I 
mustn't  say  too  much.  But, — but  I  was  sure  that 
you  would  be  glad  to  know — that  you  would  like  to 
congratulate  me." 

Coryton  did  not  betray  the  faintest  annoyance  at 
this  unwelcome  intelligence,  for  which,  after  all,  he 
was  not  unprepared.  He  simply  patted  his  friend 
on  the  shoulder  as  if  with  encouraging  friendliness,  and 
they  entered  the  drawing-room. 

If  the  noise  of  a  crowd  is  the  best  accompaniment 
to  quiet  conversation,  as  Violet  had  had  the  effrontery 
to  tell  Gwendolen,  those  two  young  ladies  had  come 
in  for  an  unique  opportunity.  The  game  of  "  cutlets  " 
had  just  come  to  its  usual  abrupt  termination  and  all 
the  players  were  struggling  on  their  backs  on  the 
floor,  emitting  peal  after  peal  of  uproarious  merriment. 


THE  MELTING  OF  THE  ICE-MAIDEN.          187 

The  Archdeaconess  was  wagging  her  feet  and  hands, 
like  a  beetle  on  its  back  waiting  to  be  turned  over ; 
Miss  Connecticut  was  emitting  that  shrill  transatlantic 
scream  which  is  so  distressing  to  European  ears; 
while  Pimlico,  who  was  only  present  as  a  spectator, 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  high  fender  and  panted  forth 
a  wild  spluttering  laugh  that  rose  and  fell  in  unmu- 
sical cadence.  Miss  Mudlark  put  her  thumb  in  her 
mouth  and  tried  to  look  innocent  when  she  perceived 
that  Miss  Haviland  was  among  the  arrivals.  Indeed 
the  latter's  presence  seemed  to  act  somewhat  as  a 
wet  blanket  upon  the  high  spirits  of  the  party  and  the 
hilarity  soon  died  away,  as  the  players  gradually 
regained  their  feet. 

Lady  Giddy  proposed  "a  quieter  game,"  which 
elicited  ribald  remarks  about  the  quietness  of  the  pre- 
ceding one.  Pimlico  protested  that  the  only  quiet 
game  he  knew  was  baccarat.  Theodora  proposed  an 
adjournment  to  the  billiard-room  for  pool  and  Williams 
moved  an  amendment,  which  was  seconded  by  Wilmot, 
in  favor  of  "  blow-marble  "  on  the  billiard-table,  but 
everybody  declared  they  were  too  much  out  of  breath. 
Of  course  Miss  Mudlark  wanted  to  have  "  blow-marble  " 
explained  to  her. 

"  It's  very  simple,"  volunteered  Violet.  "  You  pick 
up  sides  and  then  it's  like  football.  The  captain 
blows  off  the  marble  and  then  everybody  tries  to  blow 
it  through  the  opposite  side's  goal.  You  mayn't  touch 
either  the  marble  or  the  table  during  the  game.  Last 
time  we  played  it,  Pirn's  and  Theo's  mouths  met  in  the 
middle  of  the  table  and  Lady  Elizabeth  declares  they 
became  so  engrossed  in  each  other  that  they  forgot  to 
blow." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  and  Theodora  shouted, 
"  Shut  up,  I  never  play  that  childish  game.  Come 
along,  who  says  pool  ?  " 

Everybody  was  soon  streaming  along  the  corridor 
to  the  billiard-room  and  a  buzz  of  conversation  went 
before,  like  the  incense  that  precedes  a  procession. 

"  By  the  way,  Pirn,  what's  become  of  that  bay  mare 
of  yours,  the  Smiler  ?  " — "  Gone  to  the  knackers,  years 
ago." — "  I  met  old  Wrigglesworth  at  the  Alhambra  last 


188  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

week,  trying  to  do  the  mash." — "  Fie !  Mr.  Coryton, 
what  were  you  doing  at  the  Alhambra?" — "You  don't 
say  so !  I  am  astonished.  Known  her  ever  since  she 
was  a  baby,  just  about  so  high,  that's  all." — "  He's  in 
luck.  Quite  good  looking  and  such  a  fortune ! " — "  Yes, 
such  good  fortune  with  such  good  looks  ! " — "  Accord- 
ing to  the  canon  law,  Lady  Elizabeth,  a  dynasty  only 
acquires  a  prescriptive  right  when  a  hundred  years 
have  elapsed  without  a  protest." — "  Yes,  yes,  Mr. 
Clifford,  but  what  does  the  agricultural  laborer  care 
about  canon  law,  or  indeed  any  law  for  the  matter  of 
that  ?  " — "  Eight  and  nine  seven  times  in  succession.  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  bank."—"  Oh !  no  one  reads 
newspapers  nowadays,  least  of  all  the  folks  who  write 
them." — "England  ceased  to  be  England  when  cock- 
fighting  went  out  of  fashion." — "  My  dear  Mr.  Gave- 
rigan,  you  are  hopeless.  I  believe  you  would  like  us 
all  to  go  about  with  a  fig-leaf,  because  it  was  the  fashion 
before  the  flood."--"  Well,  some  of  us  do." — "  Pray  be 
quiet,  Mrs.  Miles  will  overhear  you.  She's  touchy 
about  that  dress." — "Dress,  do  you  call  it?" — "I  think 
I  shall  slip  off  to  bed."—"  Oh !  don't  go  yet.  Pim'll 
probably  take  a  bank  presently." — "  It  was  a  regular 

ding-dong  finish,  and  the  filly "  I  don't  believe 

a  word  of  it." — "  Well,  I  have  got  eyes." — "  Humph  !  I 
hope  you  haven't  got  a  tongue  too." — "  Oh !  no,  I  have 
not  got  that." 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  189 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   MINISTERIAL   RECEPTION. 

Tout  le  monde  est  atwommant.  lln'ya  de  tolerable  que  les 
gens  quime  plaisent,  uniquement  parcequ1  Us  me  plaisent. — GUY 
DE  MAUPASSANT. 

CORYTON  had  an  interview  with  Lord  Southwark 
before  he  left  Blarney.  A  few  weeks  after,  a  brief 
paragraph  found  its  way  into  sundry  of  the  Govern- 
ment organs,  to  the  effect  that  the  Marquess  of  South- 
wark had  appointed  Mr.  Walpole  Coryton  to  be  his 
private  secretary. 

Coryton  entered  upon  his  duties  at  once.  They 
were  not  arduous,  for  Lord  Southwark  was  by  no 
means  an  exacting  man.  The  post  he  held  in  the 
Government  was  one  of  great  dignity,  but  small  re- 
sponsibility. The  possession  of  it  entitled  the  holder  to 
Cabinet  rank  and  high  precedence.  The  departmental 
work  was  slight,  and  parliamentary  duties  consisted 
chiefly  in  piloting  Government  measures,  about  whose 
passing  there  could  be  no  doubt,  through  the  House 
of  Lords,  duties  which  Lord  Southwark  performed  with 
admirable  grace  and  skill.  He  was  a  persona  grata  at 
Court,  and  therefore  raised  no  murmur  when  he  was 
told  off,  somewhat  frequently,  as  Minister  in  attend- 
ance. Those  who  did  not  know  him  wondered  a  little 
why  Lord  Southwark  went  in  for  politics  at  all.  He 
was  an  enormously  wealthy  peer,  wealthy  enough  to 
buy  almost  any  further  honors  he  might  desire,  and 
great  wealth  means  great  influence  even  in  these  days, 
when  pocket-boroughs  are  not.  But  Lord  Southwark 
did  not  care  to  buy  his  honors ;  he  left  that  to  the 
"  beerage,"  and  he  had  some  old-world  theories  about 
noblesse  obliye.  So,  though  he  refused  the  Irish  Vice- 


190  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

royalty  because  it  was  too  much  trouble,  he  accepted 
this  other  post,  possibly  because  he  courted  the  blue 
ribbon  of  the  Garter,  or  because  he  thought  that  a  Cabi- 
net office — as  Prince  Bismarck  is  said  to  have  remarked 
of  the  throne  of  Bulgaria — would  always  be  "  a  pleas- 
ant reminiscence." 

Though  not  exactly  the  sort  of  Minister  who  moulds 
the  destinies  of  nations,  Lord  Southwark  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly clever  man,  and  he  liked  to  have  clever 
people  about  him.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about 
Coryton's  cleverness ;  it  was  evidenced  quite  as  much 
by  what  he  did  not  do  as  by  what  he  did,  and  this  his 
chief  was  quick  to  find  out.  Though  he  did  not  hold 
Lord  Beaconsfield's  views  as  to  the  value  of  private  sec- 
retaries, and  though  he  was  by  no  means  overburdened 
by  generosity — for  the  generosity  of  the  wealthy  is 
generally  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  their  means  —  Lord 
Southwark  gave  Coryton  an  additional  £300  a  year  to 
the  official  £200  accredited  him  in  Whittaker,  and  a 
corresponding  amount  of  private  work  of  his  own.  He 
also  admitted  him  to  a  certain  degree  of  his  confidence, 
and  with  something  of  the  feeling  with  which  one  likes 
to  back  a  winning  horse,  helped  him  forward  in  many 
little  ways. 

For  Coryton  was  a  winning  horse ;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that.  He  had  got  his  foot  firmly  planted  on 
the  bottom  rung  of  the  ladder  which  leads  to  fame. 
He  might  slip,  as  many  a  one  has  done  before,  but  at 
present  all  seemed  to  go  well  with  him,  and  he  was 
spoken  of  everywhere  among  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances as  a  coming  man.  Others  have  been  spoken  of 
so  too,  but  they  are  always  coming  and  never  come. 

Coryton's  great  obstacle  was  scarcity  of  money,  but 
his  appointment  to  Lord  Southwark  brought  him,  in 
these  early  days,  what  was  almost  as  good — credit.  So 
with  a  certain  amount  of  cash  in  hand  and  by  making 
a  point  of  never  paying  for  anything  which  he  could  get 
upon  credit,  he  was  able  to  float  along  for  the  present 
excellently  well.  This  sort  of  thing  could  not  go  on 
forever,  of  course — the  day  of  reckoning  must  come — 
but  then  he  would  be  married  to  Violet  arid  she  could 
settle  his  bills. 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  191 

"  That  is  the  truest  function  of  a  wife,"  he  thought 
with  an  amused  smile,  as  he  pictured  to  himself  how 
enraged  Violet  would  be  when  she  knew  the  real  state 
of  affairs.  Their  love-affair  was  a  matter  of  sympa- 
thy and  interest  combined,  but  the  interest  played  as 
strong  a  part  hi  it  as  the  sympathy.  "  After  all,"  he 
thought,  "  what  matter  ?  The  emotion  between  the 
sexes  called  love  is  generally  part  selfish  and  part  ani- 
mal." 

Cory  ton  settled  down  in  London  in  October,  just  as 
town  was  beginning  to  fill  again  a  little,  and  he  took 
chambers  on  the  second  floor  of  a  house  in  Picca- 
dilly overlooking  the  Green  Park.  He  was  keenly 
alive  to  the  advantages  of  a  good  address  and  appear- 
ance. He  furnished  his  chambers  handsomely,  partly 
on  credit  and  partly  on  the  proceeds  of  a  check  given 
to  him  by  that  grateful  parent,  Lord  Baltinglass  of 
Blarney.  His  dress  was  always  perfect — it  would  be 
so  of  course  with  one  who  had  carte  blanche  at  Savile 
Row ;  moreover,  remembering  the  words  of  the 
immortal  Mr.  Vigo,  he  affected  a  certain  slight  severity 
of  style  which  befitted  a  budding  statesman.  He  was 
elected  a  member  of  the  Bachelor's,  and  his  name  was 
down  for  White's  and  shortly  coming  up  for  the 
Carlton.  He  was  always  very  civil  to  any  journalists 
who  might  come  in  his  way  ;  he  paid  assiduous  court 
to  Dowagers,  and  was  to  be  seen  regularly  at  Sunday 
morning  service  at  a  fashionable  church. 

He  had  a  good  many  introductions,  of  course.  The 
fact  of  his  being  private  secretary  to  a  Cabinet  Minis- 
ter— especially  a  Minister  of  Lord  Southwark's  social 
position — was  an  introduction  in  itself.  He  soon  had 
more  invitations  than  he  could  accept,  and  more  than 
he  cared  for. 

"  As  a  rule  the  people  who  want  to  know  one  are 
the  people  one  doesn't  want  to  know,"  he  muttered  to 
himself  as  he  tore  up  two  or  three  dinner  invitations 
which  emanated  from  Kensington-this-side-of-Jordan 
and  threw  them  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  "  It  is 
all  right  to  eat  these  people's  dinners,"  he  continued, 
"but  it  is  a  little  awkward  when  one  comes  across 
them  full-tilt  in  the  Park  afterwards.  And  these  sort 


192  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

of  people  are  always  in  the  Park — it  is  their  happy 
meeting  ground — and  they  never  seem  to  know  when 
you  have  had  enough  of  them.  They  should  be  con- 
tent to  exist  for  dinner  purposes  only." 

A  good  many  quondam  friends  of  the  late  Judge- 
Advocate-General  turned  up  again  too.  They  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  son.  But  now  that  he  seemed 
to  be  working  his  way  to  the  front  and  was  not  likely 
to  want  anything  of  them,  they  came  and  looked  him 
up,  and  bade  him  welcome  to  their  houses. 

Coryton  accepted  their  hospitality  in  the  spirit  in 
which  it  was  offered.  He  could  not  afford  to  bear  any 
resentments,  even  if  he  had  felt  them.  But  he  did 
not.  He  would  have  acted  in  precisely  the  same  way 
himself  under  similar  circumstances,  and  his  was  a 
philosophy  which  takes  life  and  human  nature  as  it 
finds  them.  "  He  who  lives  for  himself  lives  for  but  a 
little  thing,"  it  has  been  truly  said ;  yet  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  find  anything  else  to  live  for. 

So  the  months  went  by  and  the  fogs  came  and 
went,  and  the  dismal  thing  called  Christmas  came 
and  went,  and  the  New- Year's  bills  came  and  didn't 
go,  and  Parliament  opened  and  the  Queen's  Speech  (so- 
called) — not  more  ungrammatical  than  such  speeches 
generally  are,  and  not  more  stuffed  than  usual  with 
platitudes  and  impossible  schemes  of  reform, — was 
read  by  a  queer  little  man  in  a  wig  and  gown  whom 
some  called  the  "  Lord  High  Jobber,"  and  the  business 
of  the  Session  began. 

It  didn't  mean  much  extra  work  for  Coryton, 
beyond  that  he  had  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the 
"  Notices  for  the  Day  "  and  to  haunt  the  lobby  of  the 
House  of  Lords  four  afternoons  in  the  week,  or  stand 
below  the  Bar  sometimes  when  a  dull  and  decorous 
debate,  in  which  Lord  Southwark  took  part,  was  going 
on.  The  work  of  a  private  secretary,  whose  chief  is 
in  the  House  of  Lords — unless  that  chief  should 
happen  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  great  department — 
is  to  a  certain  extent  ornamental,  and  this  part  of 
his  duties  Coryton  was  able  to  fulfil  to  a  nicety,  for 
he  posed  as  a  sucking  politician  to  the  manner  born. 
It  was  only  on  those  rare  occasions,  when  he 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  193 

had  to  attend  a  debate  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
that  he  felt  the  full  fascination  of  political  life,  and 
heard  as  it  were,  the  great  heart  of  the  nation  throb. 

Lord  Southwark,  in  addition  to  his  other  advantages, 
possessed  a  beautiful  house  and  a  beautiful  wife. 
The  office-seekers  and  bottle-washers  of  the  Party, 
who  are  apt  to  be  envious,  said  it  was  these  things, 
rather  than  his  abilities,  which  had  advanced  Lord 
Southwark  to  so  prominent  a  place  in  the  councils 
of  the  nation.  It  was  probably  the  combination  of 
all  these  factors,  though  there  might  have  been  some 
truth  in  the  sneer,  for  the  Party  was  badly  in  want 
of  another  house  whereat  to  rally  its  forces.  The 
dreary  functions  at  the  Prime  Minister's,  where  people 
were  asked  by  the  letters  of  the  Alphabet,  the  A's 
to  L's  one  night,  and  the  M's  to  Z's  another  ;  where 
the  hostess  ostentatiously  showed  her  contempt  for 
the  greater  number  of  her  guests  by  turning  her  back 
upon  them  and  hanging  her  hand  over  the  banisters 
to  be  tugged  at  like  a  bell-rope  ;  where  the  host  was 
wrapped  in  chilly,  unapproachable,  Olympian  gloom — 
these  functions  could  scarcely  be  described  as  inspirit- 
ing. Doubtless  though,  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  M.P.  for 
Mudford,  and  Mrs.  Toadey-Snaile,  whilom  Mayor  and 
Mayoress  of  that  borough,  Mr.  Creeper  Crawley,  Editor 
of  the  Lickworm  Gazette,  Mr.  Hunter  Tuft,  the  society- 
promoter — and  all  the  other  tag-rag  and  bobtail  of  the 
Party  were  more  than  consoled  for  the  snubs  they  had 
endured  by  seeing  their  names  in  the  paper  the  next 
morning,  and  by  thinking  of  the  gall  and  wormwood 
with  which  their  less  favored  friends  and  intimates 
would  read  them  there  also. 

So  Lady  Southwark,  after  due  consultation  with 
her  lord,  rose  to  the  occasion  and  endeavored  to 
found  a  political  salon.  The  exclusive  portals  of 
Southwark  House  were  opened  wide,  a  miracle  in 
itself,  for  they  were  generally  shut  very  close  indeed. 
The  Southwarks  belonged  to  the  inner  circle  of  what 
was  once  considered  to  be  the  most  exclusive  aristocracy 
in  Europe ;  they  formed  one  of  Lady  Charles  Beresford's 
famous  "  forty  families  "  who  alone  she  says  constitute 
English  society. 

'3 


194  THE  GEE  EN  BAY  TREE. 

"  It  is  a  great  effort,"  Lady  Southwark  confided  to 
Lady  Elizabeth  Gargoyle,  who  was  a  cousin  of  hers. 
"  These  people  are  not  even  amusing,  they  are  simply 
middle-class  mediocrities.  I  am  sure  that  to  entertain 
all  those  Socialist  creatures,  Anarchists,  and  Fenians 
and  things  on  the  other  side  would  be  much  more  ex- 
citing." 

"  The  Devil  has  all  the  liveliest  tunes,  my  dear," 
said  Lady  Elizabeth.  She  prided  herself  on  her  free- 
dom of  speech,  and  so  did  her  daughter  Theodora. 
"  Just  think  what  I  go  through  with  those  dreadful 
Primrose  League  teas,  don't  you  know?" 

"  Oh !  but  you  are  a  privileged  person,"  objected 
Lady  Southwark  discontentedly,  as  she  scanned  her 
"  to-be-civil "  lists.  "  However  I  suppose  it  can't  be 
helped,  Southwark  seems  to  make  a  point  of  it  and  one 
must  do  something  for  one's  country." 

"  Oh !  the  country  isn't  in  the  least  danger,  I  assure 
you,"  exclaimed  Lady  Elizabeth  vivaciously.  "  Are 
there  not  the  knights-companion,  and  the  Harbingers, 
and  the  Dames,  and  the  Esquires  ?  Are  not  the  forces 
of  Clapham  and  Balham  on  our  side  ?  As  I  said  the 
other  night  to  that  dear  delightful  Radical  person — 
what  is  his  name  ?  He  was  in  the  last  Government, 
you  know.  I  met  him  at  that  Jamrack  gathering  of 
Lady  Vieille's.  Every  one  was  there  from  a  pet  Prin- 
cess to  a  third  rate  poet — Dear  me,  Theodora,  what 
was  the  man's  name  ?  I  shall  forget  my  own  next." 

"  Marshall,"  said  Theodora  laconically  without  look- 
ing up  from  the  poodle  she  was  fondling. 

"  Marshall — of  course,  how  stupid  of  me  to  forget. 
'  Yes,'  I  said  to  him,  *  You  are  a  wicked,  danger- 
ous man,  Mr.  Marshall,  but  we  are  not  a  bit  afraid 
of  you,  for  all  the  snobs  are  on  our  side,  you  know.'  " 

"  That  was  a  little  mal-d-propos,  wasn't  it  ?  "  queried 
Lady  Southwark  languidly.  "I  hear  the  creature  is 
going  to  be  married  to  some  colonial  person  with  social 
ambitions,  and  is  coming  over  to  us.  The  Duchess  of 
Puffeballe  has  taken  him  up.  I  daresay  he  will  be 
dining  here  in  the  fulness  of  time.  But  then  he  will 
have  become  dull." 

"Which  is  another  way  of    saying  he  will  have 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  195 

become  a  good  Conservative,  you  naughty  thing,"  said 
Lady  Elizabeth  rising.  "  Well,  we  really  must  be  going. 
Theodora  has  to  be  present  at  a  drawing-room  meeting 
in  aid  of  broken-down  cab-runners,  somewhere  in 
Kensington  at  five  o'clock.  Let  me  know  if  you  want 
any  additions  to  your  list.  Theodora  knows  all  those 
sort  of  people,  don't  you  know,  and  so  do  I — only 
I  forget  their  names.  Theodora  doesn't.  Good-bye." 

Lady  Southwark,  however,  managed  her  invitations 
excellently  well  without  the  help  of  Theodora.  Mr. 
Coryton  came  to  her  assistance  instead,  and  it  was 
really  remarkable,  considering  the  short  time  he  had 
been  in  town,  how  much  he  knew  about  "those 
sort  of  people."  It  was  not  a  very  difficult  task, 
they  had  only  to  prune  down  the  Prime  Minister's 
omnium-gatherum  lists  a  little,  and  the  thing  was 
done,  at  least  so  far  as  the  invitations  were  con- 
cerned. But  Lady  Southwark  was  grande  dame  to  her 
finger-tips  and,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  do  the 
thing,  she  did  it  well,  and  had  a  gracious  smile,  and 
a  kindly  word  for  all  the  motley  throng  who  pressed 
up  the  broad  marble  staircase  of  the  Southwark 
Mansion.  She  was  a  perfect  hostess.  Ambassadors, 
diplomats,  Peers  and  Peeresses,  Bishops  and  mon- 
signori,  Cabinet  Ministers,  provincial  Tory  M.P's  with 
their  provincial  wives  and  daughters,  and  the  other 
odds  and  ends,  who  figure  at  the  tail  of  a  gathering 
of  this  kind — all  were  welcomed  with  equal  and  gra- 
cious courtesy. 

It  was  at  the  last  of  these  receptions,  about  the 
middle  of  March,  that  Coryton  met  Violet  again. 

He  had  been  dining  with  Pimlico  that  evening  and 
they  had  been  to  the  Gaiety  together  on  the  strict 
principle  of  "  each  pay  his  own."  They  understood 
one  another  excellently  well,  did  these  two. 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  show  up  at  my  mother's 
menagerie,  otherwise  these  things  are  not  much  in 
my  line,"  said  Lord  Pimlico  superciliously,  as  they 
picked  up  a  hansom  in  the  Strand  and  rattled  west- 
ward together.  "  But  we  will  go  on  to  the  Stephanotis 
Club  after.  In  the  meantime  it  will  do  to  kill  an 
hour." 


196  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

On  his  arrival,  Pimlico  was  promptly  pounced  upon 
by  Theodora,  who  had  hitherto  been  joining  in  a 
three-cornered  conversation  which  her  mother  was 
carrying  on  with  the  Turkish  Ambassador.  She  hailed 
Pimlico  with  delight  and  they  went  off  to  talk  dogs 
and  horses  together,  subjects  on  which  Theodora  knew 
almost  as  much  as  he  did. 

Coryton,  left  to  himself,  made  his  way  leisurely 
through  the  crowd  and  exchanged  greetings  here  and 
there.  The  spacious  rooms  were  very  full,  for  this 
was  the  last  reception  before  Easter  and  there  was  a 
foreign  prince  present,  whom  Lord  and  Lady  South- 
wark  had  entertained  at  dinner  together  with  the  am- 
bassador who  represented  the  Prince's  country,  and 
other  notabilities.  Coryton  caught  sight  of  the  Prime 
Minister  in  the  second  room,  standing  apart  from  the 
crowd,  the  Star  of  the  Garter  flashing  oil  his  breast, 
his  craggy  brow  bent  forward  a  little,  and  a  smile  upon 
his  lips  as  he  exchanged  a  few  words  with  an  extremely 
pretty  girl  in  a  heliotrope  gown  caught  up  with  sprays 
of  clematis.  It  was  only  a  few  words,  for  the  great 
man's  attention  was  claimed  almost  immediately  by 
some  one  else,  and  as  he  moved  away  with  a  bow 
and  a  smile  the  girl  turned  also,  and  Coryton  saw 
that  it  was  Violet.  She  caught  sight  of  him  at  once 
and  greeted  him  witli  a  sunny  'smile. 

"  Confess,"  she  said,  "  you  are  surprised  to  see  me 
here." 

"  And  delighted,"  he  replied.  "  The  pleasure  is  all 
the  greater  because  it  is  unexpected.  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  in  town." 

"  I  only  came  up  to-day,"  she  said,  "  and  I  knew 
I  should  meet  you  here  this  evening,  so  I  did  not 
trouble  to  let  you  know.  I  am  staying  with  Lady 
Giddy  in  Seymour  Street.  She  has  brought  me  to- 
night— Oh !  "  she  went  on  in  answer  to  his  question- 
ing glance,  "  I  don't  know  where  she  is  now.  It  is 
impossible  to  keep  close  to  any  one  in  the  crush  ;  and 
she  disappeared  with  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  five  minutes 
ago.  He  is  here  and  Lord  Baltinglass  too.  Quite  a 
meeting  of  old  friends,  isn't  it  ?  I  have  been  amusing 
myself  quizzing  the  people  and  trying  to  make  them 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  197 

out — Come,  Poley,  find  me  a  seat,  and  then  you  shall 
tell  me  who  they  all  are." 

"  I  found  you  talking  to  the  most  distinguished  of 
them  all,"  he  said,  as  they  made  their  way  into  a  third 
and  comparatively  empty  room  and  sat  down  on  one 
of  the  Louis-seize  couches  near  the  door. 

"  The  Prime  Minister — Ah !  I  knew  you  would 
wonder  how  I  came  to  know  him.  Well,  we  met  on 
the  Riviera  this  January — he  was  there  just  before 
Parliament  opened — and,  do  you  know  ?  he  took  rather 
a  fancy  to  me.  So  I  smiled  straight  at  him  when  I 
saw  him  to-night — it  does  not  do  to  let  oneself  be  for- 
gotten, he  may  be  useful  to  us  some  day.  Great  men 
have  short  memories,  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Coryton  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  woman,  Vixie,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  are  a  wonderful  boy,  Poley,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Oh !  I  hear  about  you  a  good  deal.  Every 
one  tells  me  how  fast  you  are  getting  on.  Together 
we  shall  be  so  wonderful  that  we  shall  carry  every- 
thing before  us.  And  you  will  soon  win  fame." 

"  Fame,"  he  repeated  musingly,  "  that  is  to  be  known 
by  people  whom  you  don't  know,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Precisely,  Mr.  Commonplace  Book.  But  there  is 
nothing  better  in  this  life." 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is,"  he  said,  "  to  realize  the  dream  of 
one's  youth  before  one  is  middle-aged.  That  is  what 
I  shall  do  when  I  marry  you,  Vi." 

She  looked  at  him  almost  affectionately.  They  were 
not  in  the  habit  of  paying  one  another  compliments, 
these  two,  but  just  now  each  was  very  much  pleased 
with  the  other.  Perhaps  also  she  cared  for  him  more 
than  a  little.  She  was  certainly  attracted  to  him. 
His  physical  beauty  appealed  to  her  senses  and  women 
are  always  more  sensible  to  such  influences  than  men. 
Added  to  which,  she  thought  he  was  fairly  well  off — 
not  rich  of  course — but  his  income,  judging  from  the 
style  in  which  he  lived — must  be  a  thousand  or  two  a 
year  at  the  least — or  even  more,  for  he  might  be  hold- 
ing himself  in  reserve.  That  was  little  enough  to  a 
young  woman  of  Violet's  expensive  tastes,  but  then  he 


198  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

was  a  man  who  was  likely  to  make  more,  and  win 
honors  besides.  Success  was  written  on  his  brow. 

She  felt  quite  proud  of  him  as  they  talked  together 
and  watched  the  ever-shifting  crowd.  Lady  Giddy 
was  an  admirable  chaperone, — she  left  her  charge  to 
look  after  herself. 

"  Yon  must  not  realize  all  your  dreams  when  you 
marry  me,  Poley,"  said  Violet  presently,  harking  back 
to  the  point  at  which  they  started,  "  or  there  will  be 
a  rude  awakening.  Our  marriage  must  be  the  starting 
point — of  fresh  opportunities.  Every  one  has  oppor- 
tunities,—some  find  them,  others  make  them." 

"  And  some  miss  them,"  interpolated  Coryton. 

"  But  those  are  the  people  who  lack  either  money  or 
brains,"  she  rejoined,  "  We  shall  have  both." 

"  True,"  said  Coryton  brightening  visibly  at  the 
mention  of  the  magic  word  money  and  pressing  the 
little  hand  which  lay  so  near  his  own.  "  Together  we 
shall  do  all  things.  You  are  my  '  affinity '  you  know, 
Vi." 

She  gave  a  merry  laugh  and  drew  her  hand  away. 

"  You  talk  as  though  you  were  one  of  the  '  Souls,' 
Poley.  Don't  try  to  be  sentimental ;  it  doesn't  suit 
you.  We  are  not  Gwendolen  and  her  young  man,  you 
know." 

Coryton  acquiesced  very  philosophically. 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  seen  anything  of  Gwendo- 
len ?  "  he  asked. 

Violet  pouted. 

"  Not  for  ages,"  she  said.  "  Not  since  Blarney. 
But  we  are  to  meet  in  the  season,  I  believe.  We 
correspond — pages.  Her  letters  bore  me.  The  fact 
is,  she  bores  me  too.  She  is  too  good  for  this  world. 
She  is  only  fit  for  Paradise." 

"  Poor  Paradise,"  murmured  Coryton,  "  it  must  be 
a  tiresome  place  if  it  be  peopled  only  by  those  sweet 
saints  whose  society  we  so  much  dread  below." 

Violet  laughed  again.  She  was  always  laughing. 
She  had  such  pretty,  pearly  teeth. 

"  It  is  lucky  the  Pigeon  does  not  hear  you,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  Poor  Pigeon !  I  wonder  what  Lady 
Giddy  is  doing  with  him  all  this  time.  ...  Oh !  here 


A  MINISTERIAL  RECEPTION.  199 

they  are.  Talk  of  angels  and  you  hear  the  rustle  of 
their  wings.  .  .  .  What  was  I  laughing  at  so  im- 
moderately, dear  Lady  Giddy  ?  At  those  little  Orientals 
over  yonder  with  their  backs  to  the  wall.  They 
have  been  posted  there  like  wax  images  the  whole 
evening,  and  such  quaint  dresses  too  !  Who  are  they  ?  " 

"  Some  of  the  staff  of  the  Chinese  or  Japanese 
legation  most  probably,"  answered  Lady  Giddy  with  a 
careless  glance.  "  Oh !  do  look  at  Lady  Pfarrerheim, 
Violet !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sight !  " 

"  Who  is  Lady  Pfarrerheim  ?  " 

"  That  woman  near  the  door  in  the  very  decolletee 
dress,"  replied  Lady  Giddy,  whose  own  charms  were 
not  too  closely  veiled.  "  She  is  one  of  the  haute 
Juiverie.  Such  an  affected  creature,  enormously  rich, 
but  she  never  wears  an  atom  of  jewellery." 

"  Nor  much  of  anything  else  it  would  seem,"  said 
Coryton  with  a  laugh.  "  I  have  often  heard  that 
women  dress  less  to  be  clothed  than  to  be  adorned, 
but  I  never  realized  it  quite  so  vividly  before." 

"  She  is  evidently  of  opinion  that  beauty  unadorned 
is  adorned  the  most,"  said  Violet.  "  But  tell  me,  who 
is  the  man  she  has  been  talking  to  so  earnestly? 
Not  the  Duke  of  Puffeballe,  I  know  him,  but  that 
other  man,  with  the  swarthy  face." 

"  No  one  much,"  replied  Coryton  indifferently.  "  One 
would  wonder  how  he  got  here,  except  that  he  con- 
trives to  push  himself  everywhere.  He  is  a  profes- 
sional philanthropist  I  believe." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Lady  Giddy  waving  her  fan,  "  pro- 
fessional philanthropist !  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  man  who  lives  in  the  West  and  talks  about 
the  East.  It  is  quite  a  lucrative  profession  if  one 
only  talks  loud  enough.  This  man  has  found  it  so. 
As  he  was  very,  very  poor  and  obscure  he  went  in  for 
philanthropy — the  cheapest  form  of  advertisement 
going." 

"  If  he  was  very  poor  I  don't  quite  see  how  he 
could  help  poverty  much,"  said  Tyrconnel  with  a 
puzzled  air.  He  had  talked  much  about  philanthropy 
with  Gwendolen,  and  their  schemes  always  meant 
spending  a  good  deal  of  money. 


200  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

"  Oh !  it  is  quite  easy,"  said  Coryton.  "  If  you 
have  no  money  of  your  own,  you  are  charitable  at 
the  expense  of  other  people.  You  get  just  the  same 
amount  of  credit — rather  more  in  point  of  fact.  It 
is  merely  an  extended  application  of  the  saying  of 
Sydney  Smith's.  A  never  sees  B  in  trouble,  without 

thinking  that  C  ought  to  help  him But  come, 

Vixie,  shall  we  go  downstairs  ?  People  are  beginning 
to  go.  The  crush  will  be  over  now." 

In  the  supper-room  they  came  across  Theodora  and 
Pimlico.  That  youth  was  evidently  impatient  to  be 
gone,  and  asked  Coryton  if  he  wasn't  ready  to  "  make 
tracks." 

"  That  is  very  rude  of  you,  when  you  see  he  is 
with  me,"  said  Violet. 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  going  to  make  tracks  too,  aren't 
you  ?  There  is  nothing  to  do.  If  there  were  only  a 
sit-down  supper,  it  would  be  something — but  this  sort 
of  thing," — here  he  gave  a  contemptuous  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  long  buffet — "Why  my  mother  fills 
her  house  with  all  sorts  of  bounders  she  doesn't  know 
anything  about,  fairly  stumps  me.  .  .  .  More  fiz, 
Theo.  No  ?  Then  let  me  put  your  glass  down." 

"  It  is  certainly  very  decorous  and  very  dull," 
laughed  Violet.  "  Even  the  gowns  are  all  of  a  Lenten 
hue.  If  there  had  only  been  some  music,  it  would 
have  helped  us  on  a  little.  Conversation,  I  fear  me,  is 
a  lost  art.  However  I  have  accomplished  what  I  came 
for,  which  was  to  have  a  chat  with  you,  Poley,  and 
now  I  must  be  going,  for  I  see  Lady  Giddy  looking 
towards  us.  We  shall  be  in  at  five  to-morrow,  don't 
forget." 

"  You  are  coming  with  Corry  and  me,  Pigeon,  aren't 
you?"  queried  Pimlico  a  few  minutes  later.  They 
were  all  three  standing  together,  cloaked  and  hatted, 
in  the  vestibule,  waiting  for  a  hansom. 

"  It  is  the  first  I  have  heard  about  it,"  rejoined  Tyr- 
connei.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  the  Stephanotis  for  an  hour  or  so, — just  to  take 
the  taste  of  this  sort  of  thing  out  of  our  mouths." 

"  I — I — am  afraid  it's  a  little  late.  I  think  I  shall 
turn  in,"  stammered  Tyrconnel  irresolutely. 


AT  THE  LEVEE.  '201 

"  It  is  not  half-past  twelve  yet,"  said  Coryton,  "  but 
as  you  please,  of  course." 

"What  rot!"  ejaculated  Pimlico — "I  can't  think 
what's  come  over  you,  Pigeon.  Why,  there'll  be  a  lot 
of  fellows  there  you  know,  Gaverigan,  Forbes,  all  the 
rest  of  them — and  I  daresay  Pussie  Prancewell  too, 
and  Sally  Popkins." 

A  swift  change  swept  over  Tyrconnel's  face  at  the 
mention  of  the  latter  name. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  decidedly,  "but  I  cannot 
come."  He  looked  towards  Coryton  as  he  spoke. 

Coryton  said  nothing. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Pimlico  in  a  huff,  "  if  you  won't, 
you  won't.  I  don't  care.  Come  on,  Corry,  we  can't 
wait  about  here  all  night.  If  we  walk  a  few  steps  we 
shall  pick  up  a  hansom." 

Nevertheless  when  they  were  bowling  down  Pic- 
cadilly, he  returned  again  to  the  subject. 

"  I  can't  think  what's  come  over  Pigeon.  He's  quite 
a  different  chap  to  what  he  used  to  be.  Is  he  going  in 
for  piety,  or  what  ?  " 

"  He  is  going  in  for  matrimony — with  a  good  girl," 
said  Coryton  quietly,  lighting  a  cigarette. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

AT    THE    LEVEE. 

"  Vanity  of  Vanities,"  saith  the  preacher,  "Vanity  of  Vanities, 
all  is  Vanity." — ECCLESIASTES. 

IT  was  a  little  before  two  o'clock  on  a  sunny  May 
afternoon.  There  was  an  air  of  subdued  excitement 
in  the  vicinity  of  Marlborough  House  and  St.  James's 
Palace,  and  a  gaping  crowd  of  the  vulgar  had  gathered 
itself  together  at  the  corner  of  Pall  Mall ;  a  crowd 
which  extended  up  St.  James's  Street  in  one  direction, 
and  down  towards  the  Park  in  the  other.  For  the 


202  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

Prince  of  Wales  was  about  to  hold  a  Levee  by  com- 
mand of  the  Queen,  and  the  street  was  bright  with 
uniforms  and  an  incessant  stream  of  vehicles  was  driv- 
ing up  the  side  entrance  of  St.  James's  Palace.  The 
crowd,  with  that  love  of  "  dressing  up  "  which  seems 
inherent  in  the  human  race,  looked  on  and  gaped. 

Among  the  men  who  rattled  up  in  a  hansom  was 
Coryton  wearing  a  regulation  black  velvet  suit.  He 
entered  the  Palace,  and  having  handed  one  of  his  two 
cards  to  the  gorgeous  being  in  the  corridor  known 
as  the  Queen's  Page,  went  up  the  stairs  and  found 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  panting,  pushing  crowd  in 
the  outermost  ante-room. 

It  was  a  largely  attended  Levee — more  than  usually 
so  for  there  had  been  a  Royal  wedding,  or  some  such 
event,  and  loyal  subjects  were  more  than  usually  eager 
to  pay  their  respects  to  their  Sovereign. 

It  was  an  odd  spectacle.  A  number  of  common- 
place and  estimable  elderly  gentlemen  had  impaired 
their  digestions  by  hurrying  over  an  early  luncheon, 
and  had  made  themselves  uncomfortable  by  arraying 
themselves  in  sundry  unusual  and  grotesque  garments, 
in  which  they  vainly  strove  to  look  as  little  ridiculous 
as  possible. 

There  was  a  worthy  old  country  squire,  for  instance, 
who  had  never  before  ventured  on  any  color  but 
"pink,"  masquerading  in  the  gorgeous  apparel  of  a 
Deputy-Lieutenant ;  there  was  a  High  Sheriff,  whose 
attenuated  legs  were  never  meant  for  silk  stockings, 
but  who  had  donned  them  in  order  to  be  presented 
by  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  his  county.  We  say  "  his 
county "  with  reserve,  for  he  hadn't  much  to  do  with 
it,  albeit  he  was  High  Sheriff.  The  evolution  of  a 
High  Sheriff  nowadays  is  a  comparatively  rapid  process. 
A  wealthy  stock-jobber  or  something  of  that  ilk,  buys 
a  place  in  the  country, — not  much  of  a  place  neces- 
sarily— but  he  must  have  plenty  of  ready  cash.  He 
restores  a  church  perchance,  subscribes  liberally  to 
the  hounds  and  local  charities,  and  then  the  Lord 
Lieutenant  gets  him  put  on  the  county  bench.  In  a 
very  short  time  he  will  be  "  pricked "  for  the  office 
of  High  Sheriff  of  his  county,  though  he  may  have 


AT  THE  LEVEE.  203 

known  nothing  about  the  county  ten  years  before. 
Is  it  small  wonder,  under  the  circumstances,  that 
the  impecunious  but  bona  fide  country  gentlemen 
are  agitating  for  the  abolition  of  this  once  honored 
office? 

There  was  a  stout  old  general,  puffing  and  blowing 
in  a  uniform,  which  was  very  much  too  tight  for  him 
now.  There  was  an  endless  variety  of  uniforms, 
varied  here  and  there  by  the  black  gowns  and  Geneva 
bands  of  a  sprinkling  of  ecclesiastics,  and  by  the  sober 
court-dresses  of  the  civilians.  There  were  several 
Orientals  present  too,  whose  gaudy  raiment  gave  a 
touch  of  color  to  the  scene.  There  was  in  fact  the 
usual  collection  of  somebodies  and  nobodies — though, 
as  most  of  the  somebodies  enjoyed  the  privilege  of 
the  entree,  the  nobodies  predominated  here. 

Conspicuous  among  them  was  the  well-known 
"Society-promoter"  Mr.  Hunter  Tuft  who  had  relig- 
iously attended  Levees  for  years  in  the  vain  hope 
of  favors  to  come,  but  has  never  received  the  slightest 
recognition  from  the  Court — not  even  an  invitation  to 
a  Marlborough  House  Garden-party.  Poor  Hunter 
Tuft !  he  was  no  nearer  his  cherished  goal  now,  than 
when  he  commenced  his  upward  career  in  Kensington- 
beyond-Jordan,  twenty  years  ago.  All  the  same  he 
entertained  ambassadors  and  ambassadresses  at  his 
club  and  was  an  adjunct  to  every  fashionable  wedding 
in  Belgravia.  He  consoled  himself  for  Court  neglect 
by  saying  airily,  "  The  Marlborough  House  set  is  so 
very  mixed  you  know."  The  Royal  favor  is  ever 
sour  grapes  to  the  many,  sweet  to  the  few. 

Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  M.P.,  was  also  here  of  course, 
and  many  other  M.P.'s  of  the  same  kidney,  who  take 
care  that  their  presence  at  the  Levee  is  duly  chronicled 
in  the  local  papers  of  their  respective  constituencies. 
It  all  tends  to  help  them  with  the  Knights  and 
Dames  of  Primrose  Habitations,  or  with  the  Radicals 
who  love  a  lord — often  the  greatest  snobs  of  all. 
Here  was  Creeper-Crawley,  who  had  managed  to 
crawl  in  by  the  back  door  somehow.  He  represented 
Letters  perchance,  since  the  more  eminent  men  in 
that  line  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  Here 


204  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

was  our  old  friend  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle,  with 
his  greasy  locks  well-oiled,  and  clad  in  a  gaudy 
Militia  uniform,  prepared  to  shed  the  last  drop  of  his 
blood  in  defence  of  his  Queen  and  country,  as  he  said 
in  that  never-to-be-forgotten  after-dinner  speech  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  They  were  all  here,  kicking  their 
heels  and  chattering  glibly  to  one  another. 

Coryton  saw  a  good  many  faces  he  knew,  as  he 
looked  around  and  pressed  slowly  onward,  urged  for- 
ward by  the  ever-increasing  crowd  behind.  Suddenly 
he  espied  a  familiar  form  arrayed  in  an  unfamiliar 
garb.  It  was  Tyrconnel.  His  back  was  towards 
Coryton.  He  was  apparently  looking  blankly  at  the 
quaint  tapestry  on  the  wall,  but  he  turned  round 
quickly  as  Coryton  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
asked : 

"  Que  diable,  Pigeon,  viens-tu  faire  dans  cette 
gatere?" 

"  I  might  return  the  question,"  rejoined  Tyrconnel, 
smiling  all  over  his  face  at  this  unexpected  meeting. 

"I — oh!  it's  my  first  appearance,"  said  Coryton. 
"  Lord  Southwark  is  presenting  me." 

"  I  haven't  been  to  a  Levee  this  year,  and  my  father 
insisted  on  my  showing  up  at  this  one.  Not  that  it 
makes  the  slightest  difference  to  any  one  whether  I  do 
so  or  not — and  it's  a  horrid  bore,"  said  Tyrconnel,  rue- 
fully trying  to  disentangle  his  sword  from  between  his 
legs. 

"An  imperative  duty,  the  patriotic  Spreadeagle 
would  tell  you,"  corrected  Coryton.  "  See  how  impor- 
tant he  looks.  As  for  Creeper  Crawley  yonder,  it  is 
the  proudest  moment  of  his  life." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  moments  of 
mine,"  panted  Tyrconnel,  "  the  heat  is  awful — I  wish 
they  would  open  the  windows." 

"  We  must  suffer  to  be  beautiful,"  laughed  Coryton. 
"  What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon  ?  shall  we  drive 
to  Ranelagh  later  and  dine  quietly  together  ?  " 

"  I — I — am  going  to  see  Gwen,"  replied  the  other, 
"  she's  in  town,  you  know.  They  came  up  last  week." 

"Oh,  is  she?"  said  Coryton,  raising  his  eyebrows 
ever  so  slightly.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her  too."  He 


AT  THE  LEVEE.  205 

had  reasons  for  being  amiable  to  Gwendolen.  "May  I 
come  with  you  ?  I  can  take  charge  of  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles." 

"  Do,  by  all  means,"  exclaimed  Tyrconnel,  his  face 
brightening.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  that  old  woman 
is  an  awful  trial.  She  is  always  pestering  me  with 
questions  about  Lord  This  and  Lady  That — I  can  hardly 
get  in  a  word  with  Gwen  edgeways." 

"Old  woman  indeed!  "  laughed  Coryton,  "it  is  lucky 
for  your  beau  yeux  she  doesn't  hear  you.  However,  I 
will  simply  satiate  her  with  the  Peerage  if  it  pleases 
you.  It's  all  in  a  day's  work.  By  Jove ! "  as  they 
were  urged  forward.  "  What  a  crowd  there  is  !  We 
shall  go  past  the  Prince  at  a  trot,  I  expect." 

"  When  we  get  to  him.  We've  got  to  squeeze 
through  two  or  three  more  rooms  first,"  said  Tyrcon- 
nel resignedly.  "  The  dodge,  I  believe,  is  to  come  late 
and  then  one  can  simply  walk  through  the  rooms  at 
the  tail  of  the  procession  without  any  delay  at  all. 
That  is  what  Forbes  says  he  does ;  but  one  day  he  cut 
it  too  fine  and  found  the  whole  show  over,  and  the 
palace  shut  up.  But  hark ! "  as  the  sound  of  music 
floated  up  from  below.  "  Here  is  the  Prince  arriving, 
the  crush  will  soon  ease  itself  now." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  both  standing  under 
the  old  gateway  of  St.  James's  Palace. 

"  What  a  pity  you  tripped  over  your  sword  at  the 
supreme  moment,  Pigeon,"  said  Coryton  cruelly. 
"  You  made  quite  a  sensation.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  you  find  yourself  figuring  in  the  comic  papers. 
However,  it's  over  now.  Let  us  walk  up  the  street  a 
little  way  and  hail  a  hansom.  It's  no  use  waiting  here. 
As  soon  as  I  have  changed  these  togs  I  will  come  round 
with  you.  No ;  on  second  thoughts,  I'll  follow  you 
later.  Where  are  they  staying  ?  " 

"  405b,  Park  Street,"  said  the  crestfallen  Tyrconnel, 
ruefully  regarding  his  damaged  sword.  "  But  you 
don't  mean  what  you  said  about  the  comic  papers,  do 
you,  old  man — I  hate  being  laughed  at." 

"  No,  it  was  only  my  fun,  that'll  be  all  right,"  laughed 
Coryton  reassuringly — "  Here's  a  hansom.  Jump  in, 
and  let's  get  out  of  this  gaping  crowd." 


•2l)ti  THE  GEEEX  BAY  TMEE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MRS.    MIJLES'S    SEASON. 

"  While  tumbling  down  the  turbid  stream, 
Lord  love  us,  how  we  apples  swim  ! " 

— DAVID  MALLETT. 

"  What  a  monstrous  tail  our  cat  has  got  ! " 

— HENRY  CAREY. 

MRS.  DE  COURCY  MILES  had  come  up  to  town  for  the 
season  and  had  brought  Gwendolen  with  her.  She  was 
in  the  habit  of  coming  to  town  for  the  season,  albeit  in 
a  general  way  the  season  and  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles 
had  about  as  much  to  do  with  one  another  as  the  groves 
of  Camberwell  have  to  do  with  the  gilded  saloons  of 
Mayfair.  But  this  year  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  had 
hooked  herself  on  to  the  skirts  of  Mayfair  ;  that  is  to 
say  she  had  sufficiently  moved  up  in  the  world  to  hire 
three  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of  a  house  in  the  little 
street  which  runs  along  the  back  of  Park  Lane,  and 
which  may  be  therefore  said  to  have  a  sort  of  ille- 
gitimate relationship  with  that  aristocratic  region. 
True,  the  house  in  question  abutted  on  Oxford  Street, 
but  Mrs.  Miles,  who  knew  the  value  of  a  good  address, 
duly  announced  herself  and  Miss  Haviland  as  "  arriving 
at  405bPark  Street,  Grosvenor  Square,  for  the  season." 
The  announcement  was  not  of  the  faintest  possible  in- 
terest to  any  one  save  Mrs.  Miles  herself,  and  perhaps  a 
few  Cambridge  and  Kensington-beyond- Jordan  friends, 
who  not  knowing  the  precise  geographical  position  of 
405b,  gnashed  their  teeth  with  impotent  spleen  and 
wondered  "  how  that  woman  did  it." 

Mrs.  Miles,  moreover,  followed  up  the  announcement 
by  driving  round  in  a  hired  brougham  and  leaving  her 
cards  on  every  imaginable  person  with  whom  she  could 


MRS.  M1LE&S  SEASON.  207 

by  any  possibility  consider  herself  to  be  on  calling  terms. 
These  tactics  combined  with  rumors  of  the  coming 
Baltinglass  alliance,  secured  a  certain  number  of  in- 
vitations, issued  more  on  Gwendolen's  account  than  on 
her  own.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Miles  that  they 
were  launched  on  a  perfect  whirl  of  dissipation. 

Her  other  seasons,  truth  to  tell — though  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  own  it  even  to  herself — had  not 
been  altogether  a  success. 

"  I  really  could  not  exist  without  my  London  season, 
it  does  brush  away  the  provincial  cobwebs  so,"  she  was 
in  the  habit  of  telling  her  Cambridge  friends.  Then 
she  would  launch  forth  into  descriptions  of  sundry 
smart  parties,  of  which  she  knew  nothing  but  what  the 
papers  told  her. 

Her  Cambridge  friends,  who  knew  even  less  than 
she,  could  not  contradict  her.  But  it  was  all  imaginary. 
Mrs.  Miles's  "season"  consisted  in  point  of  fact  of 
three  weeks  in  a  second-rate  lodging  in  a  second-rate 
street,  of  frequent  promenades  in  the  Park  and  a 
religious  attendance  of  church  parade,  of  sundry  ex- 
hibitions, of  a  close  inspection  of  shop- windows,  a  few 
theatres,  a  visit  to  the  Academy — all  these  sort  of 
people  always  go  to  the  Academy — and  possibly  a  tea 
or  two  in  Bayswater  or  Kensington.  Then  she  returned 
to  Cambridge,  and  declared  herself  utterly  done  up 
with  the  fatigues  of  her  "  season." 

But  this  year  she  was  more  successful.  She  had 
squeezed  an  extra  £100  out  of  the  Professor  and 
brought  up  Gwendolen.  The  Baltinglasses  were  not 
much  good  from  a  social  point  of  view  in  spite  of 
their  wealth — a  fact  surely  more  due  to  Miss  Tyrcon- 
nel's  Evangelical  opinions  than  to  Lord  Baltinglass's 
vulgarity — for  society  will  swallow  any  pill  if  it  be 
only  sufficiently  gilded.  But  Lady  Giddy  helped  some- 
what, with  an  eye  to  future  possibilities,  and  that 
doubtless  also  accounted  for  many  of  the  invitations 
which  found  their  way  to  405b  Park  Street,  Grosvenor 
Square.  The  Grosvenor  Square  was  never  forgotten. 
Mrs.  Miles  even  ran  to  gold-stamped  paper  in  its  honor. 
She  was  regarding  it  lovingly  now,  as  she  answered 


208  THE  UXEEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

a  dinner  invitation,  which  had  just  come  from  Miss 
Tyrconnel. 

"  Such  a  good  address,  and  so  near  the  Park  too," 
she  said  aloud  as  she  closed  the  envelope.  Of  course 
it  was  stamped  on  the  flap  as  well. 

"  It  is  nearer  the  Marble  Arch,"  said  Gwendolen 
bluntly.  She  was  looking  out,  over  the  boxes  of  gera- 
nium and  lady-slipper  in  the  window. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  looked  up  irritably.  She  ob- 
jected to  Gwendolen's  bald  way  of  putting  things. 

"  Do  come  away  and  shut  down  that  window  a  little," 
she  exclaimed ;  "  I  am  sure  the  smell  of  the  lunch  must 
be  out  of  the  room  by  now.  Have  you  put  the  photo- 
graphs and  the  flowers  on  the  table  again  ?  Yes,  that's 
right,  and  the  World,  please,  and  the  Morning  Post, 
and  a  book  or  two,  and  the  Red  Book — pray,  Gwen- 
dolen, do  not  forget  the  Hed  Book  and  the  Peerage. 
There  now,  we  will  just  arrange  the  chairs  a  little, 
and  no  one  will  know  but  that  it  is  a  drawing-room 
only." 

"  What  does  it  matter  whether  they  know  it  or  not  ?  " 
said  Gwendolen  a  little  wearily. 

"  Matter  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miles  shrilly,  "  of  course 
it  matters  a  very  great  deal.  It  is  past  three  o'clock 
and  people  might  be  dropping  in  any  minute." 

"  And  they  might  not,"  rejoined  Gwendolen  drily, 
with  a  remembrance  born  of  previous  experience. 

"  And  they  might  not,"  repeated  Mrs.  Miles  unmoved, 
"  but  in  any  case  we  must  be  prepared.  And  I  thought 
you  said  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  was  coming  on  here  after 
the  Levee.  I  wonder  you  have  not  more  proper  pride, 
Gwendolen.  You  forget  that  we  owe  a  duty  to  society, 
you  the  future  Lady  Baltinglass  of  Blarney." 

"  That  is  nothing  to  me — nothing,"  exclaimed  Gwen- 
dolen, her  face  flushing.  "  I  am  tired  of  hearing  about 
it.  I  am  tired  of  this  make-believe  and  pretence.  The 
title  is  nothing,  the  money  is  nothing.  I  would  marry 
Wilfrid  just  as  willingly — aye,  more  so — if  he  had  not 
a  penny  in  the  world." 

"  You  are  quite  right  to  tell  him  so,  dear,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  approvingly,  "  but  you  needn't 
waste  it  upon  me.  Please  give  me  the  third  volume  of 


MRS.  MILES' S  SEASON.  209 

*  Lady  Ermyntrude's  Folly.'  It  is  on  the  table  yonder. 
We  needn't  talk  any  more  until  somebody  comes." 

So  settling  herself  down  in  the  most  comfortable 
chair,  Mrs.  Miles  was  soon  lost  in  her  society  novel,  so- 
called.  It  was  one  of  the  voluminous  series  of  a  well- 
known  lady  novelist,  who  has  never  viewed  society, 
properly  understood,  from  any  nearer  point  of  view 
than  the  area  railings. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Tyrconnel  arrived.  He 
was  followed  closely  by  Coryton,  who  rescued  him 
from  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles's  clutches,  and  engaged  the 
whole  of  that  lady's  attention  by  whispering  to  her 
certain  coming  scandals  among  the  upper  ten  thousand, 
which  he  manufactured  as  he  went  along,  but  which 
Mrs.  Miles  listened  to  as  attentively  as  if  they  were 
gospel,  in  fact  a  good  deal  more  so. 

This  gave  Tyrconnel  and  Gwendolen  the  opportunity 
they  were  longing  for — a  quiet  chat  together.  They 
withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  the  window-seat  and  were 
soon  recounting  all  their  thoughts  and  experiences 
since  last  they  met,  just  as  though  they  had  not  al- 
ready confided  everything  to  each  other  in  closely 
written  pages  of  Bath  post — six  sheets  in  a  budget. 

Then  they  began  to  discuss  their  plans.  Gwendolen 
was  quite  a  country  cousin,  she  had  so  many  things 
she  wished  to  see — two  or  three  plays,  Olivia  for  one, 
and  the  summer  exhibition  at  the  New  Gallery.  Then 
she  wanted  to  go  to  the  morning  service  at  West- 
minster Abbey  next  Sunday, — would  Wilfrid  come? 
They  had  tickets  from  the  Dean  for  the  choir.  And 
there  were  several  parties  she  didn't  care  much  about, 
save  for  the  chance  of  meeting  him  at  them,  and  there 
was  a  philanthropic  meeting  at  Crowther  Lodge  in  aid 
of  little  Italian  children.  She  didn't  know  much 
about  Italian  children — organ  grinders  or  otherwise — 
but  she  would  like  to  go.  Would  Wilfrid  go  with 
her  there  too  ?  Of  course  ;  he  would  follow  her  into 
the  lion's  mouth  if  need  be. 

Then  they  began  to  talk  about  their  engagement, 
which  had  not  yet  been  publicly  announced,  though  it 
was  an  open  secret  among  their  acquaintance. 

"  Was  Lord  Baltinglass  more  reconciled  to  it  ?  "  she 
14 


210  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

asked  timidly.  She  had  only  seen  him  once  since  they 
came  to  town,  but  Miss  Tyrconnel  was  on  their  side. 

"And  we  have  to  thank  Coryton  too,"  said  Tyr- 
connel, "  he  has  great  influence  with  the  Guv'nor  and 
has  quite  talked  him  round.  Oh!  yes,  there  is  no 
longer  any  obstacle  to  fear  from  that  quarter.  The 
Guv'nor  doesn't  like  to  seem  to  give  his  consent  too 
quickly,  but  he  has  given  it  and  he's  not  a  man  to 
go  back  from  his  word,  whatever  his  faults  may 
be.  You  see,  it  will  be  announced  before  the  end  of 
the  season." 

"  I  do  not  care  anything  about  the  announcement," 
she  said,  "if  only  you  do  not  mind  waiting  for  me, 
Wilfrid." 

"  Dear  one,"  he  said,  clasping  her  hands,  "  I  would 
wait  for  you  twice  seven  years,  if  need  be,  as  Jacob 
waited  for  Rachel." 

She  looked  at  his  flushed  and  eager  face,  a  great 
light  of  trust  and  love  shining  in  her  eyes.  The  little 
breeze  from  the  scarcely  closed  window  ruffled  her 
hair  about  her  brow  and  wafted  in  a  faint  fra- 
grance of  musk  upon  the  summer  air.  The  shabby 
room  was  transformed  into  an  enchanted  palace  for 
these  two. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  having  listened 
with  great  relish  to  a  description  of  the  Duchess  of 
Puffeballe's  dance  which  she  determined  to  transcribe 
on  paper  (as  an  eye-witness)  at  the  earliest  opportunity 
for  the  benefit  of  the  wife  of  the  Vice-Chancellor, 
descended  suddenly  to  matters  more  personal.  After 
a  side-glance  towards  the  two  in  the  window  she 
asked  Coryton  in  a  lowered  voice  much  the  same  ques- 
tion as  the  one  Gwendolen  had  already  put  to  Tyrconnel, 
though  from  very  different  motives. 

"I  think  the  engagement  ought  to  be  announced 
without  delay,"  she  said.  "  I  presume  Lord  Baltinglass 
has  no  objections  now  that  his  consent  has  been  vir- 
tually given.  Plave  you  seen  him  lately  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  in  the  lobby  of  the  House  of  Lords  the 
other  afternoon,"  replied  Coryton  in  the  same  con- 
fidential tones,  "  and  we  talked  upon  the  subject  at 
some  length.  As  you  are  aware.  Lord  Baltinglass  is 


MRS.  MILES' S  SEASON.  211 

much  prepossessed  in  Miss  Haviland's  favor,  and  he 
has  no  serious  objections  to  urge ;  still  it  is  only  right 
for  me  to  tell  you  that  he  thinks  his  son  might  have 
looked  higher,  and " 

"  I  am  sure  Gwendolen  is  qualified  to  hold  her  own 
in  any  society,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Miles  tartly,  for  the 
objection  sounded  like  a  reflection  on  herself ;  "  which 
is  more  than  can  be  said  of  Lord  Baltinglass.  What 
more  can  the  man  want  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  Coryton,  blandly, 
in  his  most  ultra- Parliamentary  manner.  "  She  does  in- 
deed, in  the  highest  degree,  reflect  credit  upon  your  ad- 
mirable training.  One  cannot  say  more  than  that.  But 
it  appears  that  Lord  Baltinglass,  after  the  manner  of 
his  kind,  had  cherished  the  ambition  of  his  son's  ally- 
ing himself  with  some  great  house,  and  it  is  the  idea 
of  his  having  to  forego  this  ambition,  which  has  been 
displeasing  to  him." 

Coryton  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  magnifying  Lord 
Baltinglass'  reluctance.  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  looked 
somewhat  blank,  though  visibly  mollified  at  the  com- 
pliments paid  to  her. 

"  We  are  dining  at  Baltinglass  House  on  the  21st," 
she  said. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Coryton,  "  it  proves  that 
the  conversation  between  Lord  Baltinglass  and  myself 
has  not  been  barren  of  results.  As  I  was  about  to  re- 
mark, Lord  Baltinglass  has  now  determined  to  cordially 
consent  to  the  marriage.  He  has,  as  I  said  before,  the 
highest  opinion  of  Miss  Haviland.  Her  beauty  and 
grace,  no  less  than  her  sound  common-sense,  have 
made  a  great  impression  on  him,  and  he  is  anxious  that 
Wilfrid  should  marry  young  and  sow  his  wild  oats. 
Lord  Baltinglass  is  not  one  who  looks  lightly  on  youth- 
ful follies,  nor  need  I  add,  does  Miss  Tyrconnel.  They 
think  an  early  marriage  will  be  his  salvation,  and  Lord 
Baltinglass  is  anxious  that  there  should  be  no  lack  of 
heirs  to  perpetuate  his  name.  I  myself  think  it  is  the 
best  thing  to  be  done,  for,  of  course,  as  you  are  aware, 
Lord  Baltinglass'  vast  fortune  is  entirely  at  his  own 
disposal,  and  he  is  just  the  sort  of  man,  if  angered  by 
some  youthful  indiscretion,  to  disinherit  Wilfrid," 


212  THE  GEEEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  He  cannot  keep  him  out  of  the  title,"  said  Mrs. 
Miles. 

"  True,"  said  Coryton  drily,  "  but  a  title  without 
money  is  but  little  worth — especially  a  brand  new  one. 
It  is  difficult  for  an  empty  bag  to  stand  upright.  How- 
ever, we  will  not  contemplate  such  a  possibility.  I 
only  mention  it  now,  as  an  additional  reason  for  hurry- 
ing on  the  marriage." 

"  I  am  sure  we  are  all  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 
Coryton,"  said  his  listener  with  effusion. 

"  Pray  do  not  mention  it,"  he  replied  with  a  depre- 
catory smile,  "  I  am  only  too  glad  to  be  of  any  little 
service  to  my  friends,  and — 

What  he  might  have  added  was  never  uttered,  for  at 
that  moment  a  heavy  footstep  was  heard  ascending 
the  stairs,  and  then,  to  every  one's  astonishment,  the 
Professor  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PKOFESSOR. 

"  Professors  are  admirable  persons  so  long  as  they  confine  them- 
selves strictly  to  the  subjects  which  they  profess." — LOED  K. 
CHXIKCHILL  :  Speech  at  the  University  Carlton  Club  Dinner, 
Cambridge,  June,  1885. 

THE  Professor  seemed  unusually  flustered  and  hur- 
ried. One  hand  grasped  a  carpet-bag  and  the  other 
the  University  Don's  inevitable  umbrella.  His  broad- 
brimmed  hat  was  brushed  the  wrong  way.  Something 
had  evidently  occurred  to  startle  him  out  of  his  nor- 
mal, professorial  calm. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  James,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miles, 
viewing  the  unexpected  visitant  with  an  inhospitable 
eye.  "  Whatever  brings  you  here — bursting  in  upon 
us  like  this  ?  " 

The  Professor  did  not  hear  her  apparently.  He 
removed  his  hat  and  put  it  upon  the  table.  Then  he 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PROFESSOR.  213 

saluted  Gwendolen  solemnly  on  either  cheek,  and  would 
have  performed  a  similar  ceremony  with  his  sister,  had 
not  that  lady  adroitly  avoided  it. 

"  Can  I  get  a  bed  here  to-night,  Maria  ?  "  he  asked 
in  his  usual  strident  tone,  after  he  had  shaken  hands 
with  the  two  young  men. 

Mrs.  Miles  shuddered.  That  vulgar  name !  She 
always  signed  herself  "  Marie." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  rejoined  ungraciously. 
"  If  you  don't  mind  going  up  rather  high,  that  is  to 
say,"  she  added,  her  thoughts  running  on  a  certain 
little  attic  up  among  the  tiles. 

The  Professor  looked  somewhat  doubtful.  He  knew 
that  attic. 

"  You  can  have  my  room,  father,"  broke  in  Gwendo- 
len, coming  forward  and  taking  him  affectionately  by 
the  arm. 

"  Your  room  !  Good  gracious  !  Gwendolen,  what 
are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miles  sharply. 
"  There's  the  ball  to-night.  Who  is  going  to  move  all 
your  things,  I  should  like  to  know,  and  how  are  you 
going  to  manage  to  dress  properly  up  in  that  little 
garret  ?  I  won't  have  you  crowding  in  with  me,  so 
don't  think  it." 

Then  she  paused  abruptly,  remembering  that  these 
domestic  details  were  hardly  suitable  for  discussion 
before  her  visitors.  To  divert  attention  she  turned  on 
the  Professor  again. 

"  James,"  she  repeated,  "  Will  you  tell  me  what  has 
brought  you  up  to  town  in  this  unexpected  manner  ?  " 

"  Business,  my  dear,  business,"  rejoined  the  Profes- 
sor, sitting  down  and  wiping  his  spectacles  deliberately, 
"  urgent  and  important  business.  I  had  a  letter  from 
my  broker  this  morning  to  say  that  the  Vald'oro  Gold 
Mines  were  in  a  very  shaky  condition,  so  I  wired  to 
him  to  sell  out  at  once  and  followed  up  my  telegram 
in  person  to  see  if  I  cannot  find  a  suitable  investment 
for  those  two  or  three  thousand  pounds.  Nothing 
like  being  prompt  in  these  matters,"  he  said,  looking 
towards  Coryton,  with  that  business-like  air  which 
very  un  business-like  people  are  so  fond  of  assuming. 

"  Nothing  indeed,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  replied 


214  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Coryton,  his  eyes  glistening  at  the  mention  of  those 
two  or  three  thousand  pounds. 

"  Humph !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Miles,  whose  opinion  of 
her  brother's  business  capacities  was  by  no  means  high. 
"  I  hope  you  won't  be  taken  in,  James." 

"My  dear,"  rebuked  the  Professor,  loftily,  "I  am 
always  guided  by  the  advice  of  my  brokers.  Though 
1  confess,"  he  added  with  a  momentary  hesitation, 
"  they  have  not  always  advised  me  aright." 

"Hardly,  if  they  advised  Vald'oro  Gold  Mines," 
interpolated  Coryton  with  an  affectation  of  superior 
knowledge.  "  May  I  ask  who  are  your  brokers,  Pro- 
fessor Haviland  ?  " 

"  Messrs.  Grabbit  and  Shark,"  replied  the  Professor. 
"  What !  Do  you  know  anything  about  them  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  say  what  I  know  about  them," 
replied  Coryton,  with  commendable  caution  consider- 
ing that  he  knew  nothing  at  all.  Then  he  continued, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  could  say  much,  an  he  would  : 
"  But,  as  you  know,  my  position  gives  me  many  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  behind  the  scenes — and  if  I  might 
venture  to  advise,  I  should  strongly  recommend  you  not 
to  consult  them  with  reference  to  future  investments. 
I  must  not  say  more — I  must  not  indeed.  What  I  have 
been  told  was  in  the  strictest  confidence,  but  my  infor- 
mation came  from  the  highest  sources — I  cannot  say 
more." 

"  There,  James,  you  hear,"  broke  in  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles.  "  Mr.  Coryton  is  the  Marquis  of  South wark's 
private  secretary  and  his  warning  is  not  to  be  lightly 
put  aside.  What  have  I  always  told  you  about 
Grabbit  and  Shark?  You  know  how  they  let  you 
in  over  that  Lofosz  business  as  well  as  these  Vald'oro 
Mines." 

"  Really,  Maria,"  said  the  Professor,  "  if  you  remem- 
ber you  counselled  the  Lofosz  investment  yourself." 

But  he  was  frightened  at  Coryton's  words.  All 
people  who  dabble  in  doubtful  speculations  are  apt  to 
be  at  the  merest  breath  of  suspicion. 

"  What  do  you  advise  then,  Mr.  Coryton  ? "  he 
queried,  addressing  him  with  increased  respect. 

"  I  only  wished  to  warn  you  as  a  friend,"  replied 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  P  HOPES  SOU.          215 

Coryton  with  assumed  reluctance.  "To  advise  you 
further  is  another  matter.  Of  course  you  know" — 
this  to  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles — "  Lord  Southwark  in- 
vests largely  of  his  surplus  income  every  month."  The 
lady  bowed  assent.  "  I  have  therefore  many  oppor- 
tunities of  getting  the  '  straight  tip  '  so  to  speak,  which 
are  debarred  to  the  million ;  still  I  hardly  know  if  I 
should  be  justified  in " 

"  Oh !  do  please  advise  James,  dear  Mr.  Coryton," 
cried  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  as  he  paused.  "  You  don't 
know  what  a  child  he  is  in  business  matters.  Yes,  you 
are,  James,  there's  no  denying  it.  Do  tell  him  of  some 
nice  safe  investment  with  a  good  interest.  Anything 
which  Lord  Southwark  has  money  in  must,  I  am  sure, 
be  first-class." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  do  so,"  said 
Coryton,  lowering  his  voice  to  suit  the  solemnity  of 
the  occasion.  "  Were  it  any  one  but  you  I  should 

refuse ;  but  I  can  refuse  you  nothing Well 

then,"  he  went  on  in  a  lowered  voice  as  though  he 
were  imparting  a  Cabinet  secret,  "  a  Company  has 
just  been  formed — the  shares  are  only  just  on  the 
market — to  promote  one  of  the  greatest  inventions 
the  world  has  ever  seen.  There  is  a  great  future 
before  it — absolute  security — and  20%  dividend  on 
the  first  half  year.  The  '  Patent  Automatic  Drainage ' 
Company  it  is  called.  For  obvious  reasons  I  do  not 
care  to  explain  the  details  just  now,  but  it  is  a  mar- 
vellously good  investment.  Lord  Southwark  thinks 
most  highly  of  it." 

"And  is  Lord  Southwark  one  of  the  directors?" 
queried  Mrs.  Miles,  her  eyes  brightening  at  the  pros- 
pect of  that  20%  dividend. 

"  Lord  Southwark  does  not  see  his  way  to  becoming 
a  director  at  present,"  replied  Coryton  with  gentle 
rebuke.  "He  has  to  consider  his  position  in  the 
Ministry — but  he  is  greatly  interested."  (In  point  of 
fact  Lord  Southwark  had  no  more  to  do  with  it  than 
the  man  in  the  moon.)  "  And  in  a  small  way,  compari- 
tively  speaking,  I  am  interested  myself.  But  the 
Board  of  Directors  is  a  very  influential  one.  It  includes 
the  Marquis  of  Swindleycate,  the  Earl  of  Bubbelf raude, 


216  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

Lord  Guineapygge,  Sir  Hawke  Pluckpigeon,  K.  C.B., 
Alderman  Sir  Levi  Lazarus,  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  M.P., 
and  many  other  names  well  known  in  the  world  of 
finance." 

u  There,  James,"  cried  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles,  quite 
overcome  by  this  illustrious  list.  "  What  better  guar- 
antees can  you  have?  Please  talk  the  matter  over 
with  Mr.  Coryton.  How  providential  you  should  have 
met  him  in  this  way.  But " — her  thoughts  reverting 
to  the  original  grievance — "  I  must  say  it  is  very  in- 
considerate of  you  to  rush  in  upon  us  without  notice  in 
this  way,  we  have  so  much  going  on  too.  Gwendolen 
dear,  what  are  our  engagements  for  this  evening  ?  " 

During  the  whole  of  this  colloquy  Gwendolen  and 
her  lover  had  been  engrossed  with  one  another  on  the 
window-seat.  Mrs.  Miles  found  it  necessary  to  repeat 
the  question. 

"Surely,  Aunt,  you  know — we  have  not  so  many 
engagements,"  replied  her  uncomfortably  truthful 
niece. 

Mrs.  Miles  wisely  ignored  the  rebuke  and  consulted 
her  tablets. 

"Ah!  yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  as  I  thought.  We  are 
dining  at  Lady  Giddy's  and  going  on  to  Mrs.  Connect- 
icut's ball  afterwards.  You  see,  James,  how  incon- 
siderate you  are.  I  have  ordered  no  dinner.  You'll 
get  nothing  here." 

"Perhaps  Professor  Haviland  will  come  and  dine 
with  me  quite  quietly  at  my  club,"  suggested  Coryton. 
"  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  if  he  would." 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles,  accepting  for  the  Professor  promptly,  "  and  then 
you  might  have  a  little  business  chat  together." 

Gwendolen  gave  Coryton  a  grateful  glance.  She 
was  always  grateful  for  any  little  kindness  to  her 
father.  She  was  very  fond  of  him  and  resented  the 
way  in  which  Mrs.  Miles  was  apt  to  shunt  him 
aside. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going,"  said  Coryton,  taking  up 
his  hat.  "We  shall  meet  at  eight  then,  Professor. 
So  good  of  you  to  say  you  will  come.  Are  you 
coming  my  way,  Tyrconnel  ?  " 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PROFESSOR  217 

"  I  think  so,"  he  replied,  for  he  saw  that  as  Cory- 
ton  was  leaving  all  chances  of  a  further  tete-&-t£te 
were  over.  "  We  shall  meet  at  Mrs.  Connecticut's, 
Gwendolen.  Oh !  there  is  one  thing  I  wanted  to  ask 
you— I  had  almost  forgotten  it.  Will  you  and  Mrs. 
Miles  drive  down  with  us  to  Hurlingham  next  Satur- 
day and  have  lunch  there  ?  There  is  to  be  a  Meet  of 
the  Four-in-Hand  first  of  all,  don't  you  know,  and  the 
idea  was  that  we  should  drive  down  on  Pimlico's 
coach." 

"  Delightful ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miles  with  rapture. 
"  We  should  love  it  of  all  things." 

She  had  often  been  among  the  crowd  which  watches 
the  Meets  of  the  Coaching  Club  and  Four-in-Hand 
from  the  footpaths.  Now  she  was  to  be  on  a  coach 
instead.  Surely  her  ambitions  were  being  realized 
at  last.  "  Oh !  how  I  hope  the  Overdone- Joneses  will 
be  there  to  see,"  she  thought  to  herself. 

But  Gwendolen  demurred. 

"I  do  not  like  Lord  Pimlico,"  she  said,  flushing 
a  little.  Poor  Pimlico  was  the  scapegoat  just  now, 
her  suspicions  having  been  diverted  from  Coryton. 
She  in  fact  regarded  him  as  Wilfrid's  evil  genius, 
vice  Coryton  promoted. 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Miles,  "  I  think  Lord 
Pimlico  a  most  charming  person,  his  manners  are 
the  perfection  of  haut  ton;  as  indeed  they  would  be 
—the  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Southwark.  Really, 
Gwendolen,  you  are  too  ridiculous,  I  suppose  there 
will  be  a  large  party,  Mr.  Tyrconnel  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Coryton,  answering  for  him.  "  Pimlico 
doesn't  care  about  crowding  his  coach.  I  don't  know 
how  many  exactly ;  but  Lady  Elizabeth  and  Miss 
Gargoyle,  Lady  Giddy  and  Miss  Tresillian  and  two 
or  three  men  are  coming,  I  believe." 

"  There,  do  you  hear,  Gwendolen  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Miles. 
"  Lady  Elizabeth  Gargoyle  is  going.  Really,  you  are 
a  little  too  absurd !  " 

"  I  thought  Gwendolen  would  like  to  come,"  said 
Tyrconnel  a  little  hurt,  "  but  of  course  if  she  doesn't, 
we  will  say  no  more  about  it." 

Gwendolen  looked  distressed.     She  heeded  Mrs.  de 


218  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Courcy  Miles's  railings  no  more  than  the  flies  upon 
the  wall,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  hurt  Wilfrid's 
feelings,  just  when  they  were  so  happy  together. 
Perhaps  after  all  she  was  carrying  her  dislike  of 
Lord  Pimlico  too  far.  She  gave  Tyrconnel  her 
hand. 

"  I  will  come  with  pleasure  if  you  wish  it,"  she  said. 

The  Professor  dined  that  evening  with  Coryton  as 
arranged.  They  had  a  nice  little  dinner  and  a  really 
excellent  bottle  of  port,  to  which  the  Professor,  as 
befitted  a  University  Don,  did  ample  justice.  Only 
Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  that  notorious  Guinea-pig,  dined 
with  them  before  going  down  to  the  House.  Cory- 
ton  couldn't  get  any  other  members  of  the  Syndicate 
together  at  so  short  a  notice,  but  Mr.  Snaile  served 
excellently  well.  Before  the  evening  was  over  the 
Professor  had  quite  determined  to  invest  his  odd 
thousands  in  the  Automatic  Drainage  Company — 
which  Coryton  was  floating  with  a  few  titled  decoys — 
and  even  to  sell  out  other  stock  for  the  same  purpose'. 
Such  an  opportunity,  as  both  Coryton  and  Mr.  Snaile 
impressed  upon  him  was  not  to  be  lost.  The  younger 
gentleman  was  comparatively  new  to  the  art  of  com- 
pany-promoting, but  he  played  his  part  to  the  manner 
born— so  much  so  as  to  evoke  the  involuntary  admira- 
tion of  that  old  fox,  Toadey-Snaile.  No  one  knew  how 
to  pluck  a  pigeon  better  than  Coryton,  his  early  train- 
ing admirably  fitted  him  for  the  work  and  the  Pro- 
fessor was  the  silliest  of  all  pigeons — one  who  thinks 
himself  wise.  University  dons,  old  women  and  country 
parsons,  are  notoriously  the  worst  at  business.  It  is 
upon  them  that  bubble  speculators,  financial  agents, 
company-promoters  and  such  like  vermin,  fatten  and 
flourish.  Some  one  has  said  the  world  is  made  up  of 
knaves  and  fools — mostly  fools.  This  is  perhaps  an 
arbitrary  division,  the  one  thing  certain  is  that  there 
is  a  continual  transference  going  on  from  the  pockets 
of  those  who  have  money,  to  the  pockets  of  those 
who  have  it  not. 

The  starving  man  who  steals  a  roll  from  a  baker's 
shop  is  punished  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law,  br.t 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PROFESSOR.          219 

such  as  those  who  devour  widows'  houses  and  for  pre- 
tence make  long  prayers,  go  scot  free,  and  live  and  die 
in  the  odor  of  sanctity.  The  shadow  of  the  Green  Bay 
Tree  is  over  them  all. 

A  merry  party  drove  down  to  Hurlingham  the  fol- 
lowing Saturday.  It  was  a  beautiful  sunshiny  morn- 
ing with  just  enough  breeze  to  temper  the  heat.  A 
little  rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  not  much,  but 
enough  to  freshen  the  trees  in  the  Park  and  render  the 
water-carts  unnecessary.  Pimlico  kept  his  team  of 
bays  together  in  fine  style,  and  handled  the  ribbons  in 
masterful  manner,  evoking  the  noisy  admiration  of 
Theodora,  who  occupied  the  box  seat  and  gave  her 
opinion  on  the  points  of  the  horses  in  that  delightfully 
candid  and  professional  manner  for  which  she  was  re- 
nowned. Mrs.  de  Courcey  Miles  had  the  audacity  to 
inano3uvre  for  the  box-seat  herself,  but  Theodora  soon 
settled  that.  However,  Mrs.  Miles  managed  to  make 
herself  very  much  at  home  elsewhere,  and  even  had 
the  satisfaction  of  espying  the  Overdone-Joneses  gaping 
at  her  from  the  path— just  a  little  way  below  the 
Magazine.  Miss  Tresillian  was  unable  to  come;  she 
was  knocked  up  after  last  night's  ball,  she  had  writ- 
ten ;  but  the  real  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  her 
dress  did  not  come  home  in  time — a  ravishing  creation 
of  Kate  Reilly's — and  she  had  "nothing  to  wear." 
However,  she  bore  the  disappointment  very  philosophi- 
cally by  taking  it  out  in  bed — with  a  French  novel  and 
a  big  box  of  bon-bons.  Her  "  dear  Poley  "  would  con- 
sole himself,  no  doubt. 

A  dainty  little  luncheon  was  awaiting  them  at  the 
other  end,  a  meal  fit  for  Lucullus ;  though  probably 
Lucullus,  like  most  of  those  who  make  dining  one  of  the 
fine  arts,  would  have  voted  luncheon  a  mistake.  When 
it  was  over,  later  in  the  afternoon  the  "  all  and  sundry  " 
as  Theodora  phrased  it,  began  to  troop  in. 

"  It  is  always  so  fresh  and  delightful  here,"  said 
Lady  Giddy  to  Coryton  with  a  comprehensive  wave  of 
her  parasol  at  the  velvet  turf  and  shady  trees,  "  that  I 
feel  quite  good.  One's  surroundings  have  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  one's  feeling  good ;  don't  you  think  ?  " 


220  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  Possibly,"  said  Coryton,  with  a  glance  at  the  ani- 
mated crowd,  "though  I  confess  Hmiingham  never 
struck  me  in  a  pastoral  light  before.  But  then  what- 
ever our  sins  may  be,  we  always  flatter  ourselves  that 
we  are  conquering  them — even  when  they  are  conquer- 
ing us." 

Lady  Giddy  laughed.  "  You  are  incorrigible,"  she 
said.  "  We  will  talk  of  something  more  interesting. 
Let  us  come  and  look  at  the  Polo." 

So  they  went  and  sat  near  the  queer,  mushroom- 
shaped  little  tents,  and  watched  the  game  and  listened 
to  the  music  of  the  band.  Coryton  naturally  translated 
"  something  more  interesting  "  to  mean  Lady  Giddy  her- 
self. So  he  chose  the  most  subtle  form  of  flattery  and 
talked  to  her  about  herself.  Lady  Giddy  was  not  back- 
ward in  responding  and  they  were  soon  embarked  on 
the  initial  stages  of  a  flirtation.  However,  they  did 
not  get  very  far  ahead  to-day,  for  the  coaches  began 
to  move  away  early,  as  they  generally  do.  Theodora 
was  looking  forward  to  the  homeward  drive  and  Pimlico 
was  impatient  to  be  gone.  Gwendolen  and  Tyrconnel 
were  hunted  up  with  difficulty  by  Mrs.  de  Courcy 
Miles.  They  had  turned  their  backs  on  the  Polo,  had 
gone  off  somewhere  together  in  the  grounds.  But  they 
were  captured  at  last ;  and  then  the  whole  party  drove 
homeward  before  the  trees  began  to  cast  long  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HENLEY  REGATTA. 

The  virtue  of  widows  is  a  laborious  virtue  :  they  have  to  com- 
bat constantly  with  the  remembrance  of  past  bliss. — ST.  JEKOME. 

THE  season  was  waning  fast.  Each  year  it  seems  to 
die  harder  and  to  take  longer  about  it ;  but  it  was  dying 
at  last, — there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that.  The  trees 
in  the  Park  were  dusty  and  grimy  ;  the  flower-boxes  in 
the  windows  of  Belgravia  and  Mayfair  had  lost  their 


HENLEY  REGATTA.  221 

freshness,  and  it  was  too  late  for  people  to  think  of 
renewing  them ;  the  streets  and  squares  were  stuffy  and 
hot.  There  was  an  air  of  finality  about  everything, 
people  pined  for  a  breath  of  fresh  country  air.  Society 
generally  was  pluming  itself  for  flight — discussing  the 
possibilities  of  Goodwood  and  Cowes,  where  it  would 
meet  once  more  before  dispersing  itself  to  Homburg 
waters  or  Scottish  moors. 

The  Eton  and  Harrow  Match,  the  turning  point  of  a 
dying  season,  was  just  over,  and  Lady  Giddy  had  gone 
down  to  her  place  near  Henley  to  entertain  a  party  of 
friends  for  the  Regatta.  Not  that  Lady  Giddy  cared 
about  the  Regatta  ;  she  had  been  to  so  many  and  they 
were  all  alike  ;  but  it  served  as  a  peg  to  hang  a  house- 
party  on. 

Lady  Giddy  had  a  pretty  little  place  on  the  river 
about  a  mile  below  Henley  Bridge ;  a  spacious  house 
in  good-sized  grounds,  the  verdant  lawns  of  which 
sloped  down  to  the  water's  edge,  beneath  umbrageous 
trees.  There  was  a  tiny  park  and  a  charming  boat- 
house.  The  house  itself  faced  the  river  against  a  back- 
ground of  beech-trees,  which  were  wont  to  don  won- 
drous autumn  tints  of  brown  and  red  and  gold. 

People  who  did  not  know  Lady  Giddy  very  well  often 
wondered  why  she  did  not  marry  again.  People  who 
knew  her  better  did  not  wonder  at  all.  Her  late  hus- 
band, an  old  Indian  Judge  and  K.  C.  S.  I.  whom  she  had 
married  for  his  money,  became  aware  of  the  fact  that 
she  had  done  so,  and,  being  of  a  jealous  disposition,  he 
willed  his  property  in  such  a  manner  that  everything 
would  leave  her  if  she  married  again. 

So  his  young  and  handsome  widow  was  left  to  per- 
form an  involuntary  suttee.  Her  moneyed  admirers 
did  not  admire  her  enough  to  marry  her  for  her  own 
sake,  and  the  impecunious  ones  were  out  of  the 
question.  Love  in  a  cottage  would  not  suit  Lady 
Giddy. 

She  had  a  good  many  amourettes,  but  she  was  on 
the  whole  discreet.  She  might  possibly  sin  against 
every  commandment  in  the  decalogue, — and  probably 
did  against  one  of  them, — but  she  was  careful  always 
to  observe  the  greatest  commandment  of  all  "Thou 


222  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

shalt  not  be  found  out."  Wives  and  mothers  were 
inclined  to  be  nasty  now  and  then,  but  Lady  Giddy 
held  her  own,  and  the  world  generally,  and  her  world 
in  particular,  for  the  most  part  winked  at  her  little 
affairs  of  the  heart,  and  said  "  It  was  only  that  dear 
Lady  Giddy's  way." 

Lady  Giddy  did  not  include  Gwendolen  in  her  house 
party,  though  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  threw  out  some 
very  strong  hints  indeed. 

"  After  quartering  herself  and  that  girl  upon  us  for 
the  May-week  last  year,  I  call  it  most  unfriendly,"  she 
said,  forgetting  that  it  was  she  who  had  worried  Lady 
Giddy  into  staying  with  her.  But  Mrs.  Miles  was  more 
than  consoled  by  an  invitation  from  Lord  Baltinglass 
of  Blarney,  who,  at  Wilfrid's  instigation,  had  taken  a 
house  at  Wargrave  for  the  Henley  week. 

Lady  Giddy  arranged  a  nice  little  party  "  mixed 
and  piquant "  as  they  say  of  pickles.  She  invited 
Lady  Elizabeth  and  Theodora,  Lord  Pimlico,  Gaverigan, 
Colonel  Lockhart,  Miss  Connecticut  and  Miss  Mudlark, 
Sir  Lauder  Forbes,  Lady  Greyheather,  and  Miss  Miller, 
Williams  and  Wilmot,  and  last  but  not  least  Violet 
Tresillian  and  Coryton.  Lady  Giddy  was  very  proud 
of  Violet  in  a  way.  She  had  done  her  much  credit,  for 
she  was  universally  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  of  last  season. 

Violet's  wit,  her  beauty,  heightened  by  her  admirable 
taste  in  dress  and  her  vague  reputation  of  being  an 
heiress  had  made  her  a  centre  of  attraction.  It  was 
remarkable  under  the  circumstances  that  she  kept  her 
faith  with  Coryton.  She  was  just  that  sort  of  girl  who 
might  make  a  brilliant  match  in  time ;  but  somehow 
no  very  eligible  parti  came  in  her  way  throughout  the 
season,  at  least  not  in  the  way  of  business — men 
often  admire  most  the  women  they  would  care  to 
marry  least — and  Coryton  exercised  an  attraction, — 
it  might  almost  be  called  a  fascination — over  her, 
and  besides  she  was  completely  deceived  as  to  his  real 
financial  position. 

Coryton  accepted  Lady  Giddy's  invitation  gladly, 
though  he  could  only  spare  a  few  days.  Parliament 
was  still  sitting,  but  Lord  Southwark  had  not  much 


HENLEY  EEGATTA.  223 

for  him  to  do  just  now.  By  and  bye  would  come  that 
rush  of  bills  which  are  always  hustled  up  to  the  Upper 
House  at  the  fag  end  of  the  Session.  In  the  meantime 
the  Lords  were  waiting  for  work  while  the  Commons 
were  wrangling.  So  Lord  Southwark  went  off  to  his 
place  in  Loamshire  for  a  day  or  two,  and  his  private 
secretary  ran  down  to  Henley. 

Without  being  head  over  ears  in  love  with  Violet, 
Coryton  liked  to  be  with  her,  and  was  anxious  to  urge 
his  suit.  He  knew  how  volatile  she  was  and  feared 
that  she  might  throw  him  over  if  some  one,  whom  she 
considered  a  better  match,  presented  himself.  That 
would  upset  his  calculations  considerably,  for  was  not 
Violet's  dowry  to  pay  his  bills,  his  Election  expenses 
and  many  other  little  luxuries?  Therefore  he  was 
anxious  to  settle  the  matter  without  delay.  Some 
awkward  questions  might  turn  up  over  the  settlements, 
perhaps,  but  he  thought  he  knew  a  way  of  evading 
them  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  He  was  quite  ready 
to  settle  anything  on  Violet — on  paper.  When  it  came 
to  paying  over  the  money,  Violet  would  be  tied  to  him 
irrevocably. 

"  And  she  will  be  shrewd  enough  to  accept  the  in- 
evitable," he  thought.  "  The  real  bond  of  wedlock  is 
self-interest.  Passion  dies,  love  passes,  but  that  re- 
mains. It  is  the  motive  power  of  most  marriages,  it  is 
the  secret  of  the  endurance  of  them  all." 

Lady  Giddy  having  arranged  her  little  party,  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  herself. 

"You  will  have  a  good  many  boys  among  your 
guests,"  remarked  Lady  Elizabeth  discontentedly  to 
Lady  Giddy,  the  afternoon  of  her  arrival. 

She  and  Theodora  had  come  down  by  an  early 
train.  The  others  were  not  expected  until  just  before 
dinner.  Tea  was  over  and  Theodora  had  gone  off— 
to  have  a  "look  in,"  as  she  phrased  it — at  the  stables. 
The  two  were  sitting  under  the  great  elm-trees  on  the 
lawn.  Her  hostess  had  been  running  off  her  list  for 
the  benefit  of  Lady  Elizabeth. 

"  I  love  boys,"  gushed  Lady  Giddy,  a  somewhat  un- 
necessary statement,  her  listener  thought.  "  They  take 
one  so  seriously,  and  do  you  know?— it  is  quite  a 


224  THE  GREEN  HAY  TREE. 

pleasure  to  be  taken  seriously  sometimes.  It  almost 
makes  one  believe  in  oneself." 

"Which  self?"  asked  Lady  Elizabeth.  "We  all  of 
us  have  three  selves,  the  one  we  think  we  are,  the  one 
other  people  think  we  are,  and  the  one  we  really  are. 
Which  self?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ! "  rejoined  Lady  Giddy  indiffer- 
ently, looking  beyond  her  at  the  broad,  flowing  river, 
"  the  one  people  think  we  are,  I  suppose.  It  is  refresh- 
ing to  be  believed  in  now  and  then,  anyway." 

Lady  Elizabeth  laughed  amusedly. 

"  My  good  Gerty,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  are  getting 
quite  sentimental.  But  tell  me  how  comes  it  that  the 
Baltinglasses  are  not  included  in  your  list?  I  thought 
you  were  such  great  friends." 

"  They  have  taken  a  house  at  Wargrave,  a  mile 
or  so  from  here,  or  I  should  certainly  have  asked 
Wilfrid." 

"  Another  boy ! "  said  Lady  Elizabeth.  "  He  is  a 
great  friend  of  that  new  man  one  meets  everywhere, 
Southwark's  secretary,  isn't  he?  They  always  seem 
to  run  in  couples.  Tell  me,  do  you  know  anything 
about  the  girl  Wilfrid  is  marrying.  I  saw  her  one  day 
at  Hurlingham — and  I  believe — I  don't  remember — she 
was  at  Blarney.  She  struck  me  as  quite  pretty.  Who 
is  she?" 

"  Oh,  nobody,"  rejoined  Lady  Giddy.  "  Quite  a 
middle- class  person,  I  assure  you,  the  daughter  of  a 
Cambridge  tutor  or  professor  or  something  of  the  kind. 
Yes,  she  is  pretty  in  a  way,  but  utterly  gauche  and 
with  no  pretension  to  smartness." 

"  But  you  went  to  stay  with  the  middle-class  person 
at  Cambridge  last  year,  didn't  you  ? "  asked  Lady 
Elizabeth,  a  trifle  maliciously. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Giddy  composedly,  "I  was  pestered 
into  it.  I  know  the  girl's  aunt  a  little,  a  terrible 
woman" — so  do  we  speak  of  our  dear  friends — "whom 
I  met  in  India  long  ago.  We  were  at  Simla  one  year 
together,  and  at  Simla  one  gets  to  know  all  sorts  of 
queer  creatures,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Elizabeth,  "  quite  so."  She  had 
heard  a  little  of  Lady  Giddy's  Simla  experiences  from, 


HENLEY  REGATTA.  225 

another  quarter.  "Ah,  here  comes  Theodora — Well, 
Theo,  what  do  you  think  of  the  stables  ?  " 

"  Rippin',"  ejaculated  Theodora.  She  was  in  the 
habit  of  clipping  her  g's ;  and  her  English — to  put  it 
mildly — was  somewhat  loose.  "  That's  a  gay  little  cob 
you've  got,  Gerty.  I  like  him  better  than  that  fiddle- 
headed  chestnut  you  rode  last  season." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Giddy,  falling  into  the  same 
vernacular,  "  the  chestnut  was  a  bit  nappy  on  the 
road,  but  fit  as  a  flea  when  it  came  to  going  across 
country.  I'm  glad  you  like  the  cob,  Theo,  he's  a  gay 
little  beast." 

"  I  should  like  a  mount  on  him  to-morrow  mornin', 
then  I  could  tell  better  what  he's  made  of,  don't  you 
know,"  said  Theodora,  decapitating  a  daisy  with  her 
stick. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you'll  manage  it,"  rejoined  her 
hostess,  "  unless  you  turn  out  before  breakfast.  We'll 
have  to  go  to  the  Regatta  some  time  before  luncheon." 

"  All  right,"  said  Theodora,  "  I'm  game.  I'll  see  if  I 
can't  rout  up  Pirn  and  we'll  go  for  a  spin  together.  It'll 
do  him  good ;  he's  been  gettin'  very  slack  lately  and 
puttin'  on  weight  in  a  manner  that  is  quite  alarminV 

Pimlico,  however  (to  whom  she  confided  the  idea 
later  on  in  the  evening),  didn't  seem  to  see  it,  and  so 
the  ride  was  postponed  for  another  day. 

The  next  morning  they  all  drove  over  in  a  big 
brake  to  the  Regatta — all,  that  is  to  say,  except  a  few 
of  the  more  enthusiastic  spirits,  who  preferred  to  go 
by  the  river.  But  Lady  Giddy  and  the  bulk  of  her 
party  liked  to  take  their  pleasures  easily.  So  they 
drove  over  to  Phyllis  Court  not  too  early  in  the  fore- 
noon, and  lunched  comfortably  under  some  spreading 
trees  in  the  grounds,  and  then  joined  the  privileged 
few  who  witnessed  the  Regatta  from  Phyllis  Court 
lawn,  which  slopes  down  to  the  river's  edge  and  com- 
mands an  unrivalled  view  of  the  scene  of  action.  If 
any  wished  to  go  on  the  river  it  was  easy  to  get  a  boat 
from  there. 

It  is  needless  to  enter  upon  a  detailed  description 
of  the  Regatta.  It  may  be  taken  for  granted  that 
every  one  has  seen  it.  And  this  particular  Regatta, 
15 


226  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

was  just  the  same  as  all  the  rest.  There  were 
races  going  on  presumably,  though  most  of  the 
people  did  not  seem  to  know  much  about  them  ; 
there  was  the  huge  flotilla  of  boats  of  every  imagi- 
nable sort  and  shape,  from  the  flower-bedecked 
house-boat  to  the  Canadian  canoe.  There  were 
nigger  minstrels  and  comic  singers,  there  was  the 
gay  animated  crowd  on  the  river  and  on  the  banks. 
Except  that  there  was  plenty  of  sunshine,  and  no 
rain — and  it  generally  does  rain  for  Henley — there 
was  nothing  to  mark  out  this  Regatta  from  those 
which  had  preceded  it. 

When  Lady  Giddy  had  disposed  of  her  guests — 
or  rather  when  they  had  disposed  of  themselves,  as 
people  have  a  knack  of  doing  on  these  occasions — 
she  looked  around  for  Coryton,  but  learned  that  he 
had  gone  off  on  the  river  with  Violet.  A  faint  sense 
of  disappointment  came  over  her.  He  amused  her, 
and  she  had  quite  looked  forward  to  a  little  flirtation 
with  him. 

She  crossed  the  meadow  with  the  intention  of 
giving  some  directions  to  her  servants,  who  were 
packing  up  the  luncheon  baskets,  when  suddenly  she 
came  upon  some  one  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head,  reclining  at  full  length  under  a  chestnut 
tree.  A  cigarette  was  between  his  lips,  and  he  was 
lazily  watching  the  rings  of  blue  smoke  curl  upwards 
in  the  summer  air.  In  the  distance  Lady  Giddy 
could  see  nothing  but  what  seemed  to  her  a  heap 
of  white  flannels,  with  a  straw  hat  alongside,  but  as 
she  came  nearer  the  heap  resolved  itself  into  shape, 
and  she  saw  that  it  was  Gaverigan. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
laughing  remonstrance,  "  this  is  really  too  bad  of 
you,  Harold.  Quite  apart  from  the  ill  compliment 
you  pay  me,  what  is  the  good  of  coming  to  the 
Regatta  if  you  ostentatiously  turn  your  back  upon  it  ?  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
faced  her  with  a  smile. 

"  The  Regatta !"  he  echoed,  "I  did  not  come  to 
see  the  Regatta — that  Cockney  Carnival,  that  Paradise 
of  Bohemia — but  to  see  you,"  he  added  audaciously. 


HENLEY  EEGATTA.  227 

"  Yt>u  have  a  queer  way  of  letting  me  know  it," 
she  rejoined  coquettishly,  "  going  apart  by  yourself 
in  this  manner — Well,  I  will  not  interrupt  your 
meditations." 

He  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm,  and  looked 
pleadingly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  he  said  contritely,  "  and 
do  not  go.  Stay  here  with  me.  Surely  it  is  better  here 
than  in  yonder  crowd." 

Lady  Giddy  thought  so  too.  He  was  a  handsome 
boy,  quite  as  amusing  as  Cory  ton,  she  thought 
resentfully,  though  in  a  different  way  and  very  much 
more  in  earnest.  So  they  sat  down  and  chatted  on 
under  the  shady  trees  the  whole  of  the  afternoon, 
while  the  band  in  the  Isthmian  enclosure  played  its 
melodies,  mellowed  to  them  by  the  distance,  and  the 
crowd  on  the  river  seemed  very  far  off 

"  Gerty !  Gerty !  "  cried  a  well-known  voice  at  last. 
"  Ah,  here  you  are,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  every- 
where." 

And  Lady  Elizabeth  bore  down  upon  them,  a  lit- 
tle flushed  with  walking  and  considerably  out  of 
temper. 

"  Nearly  every  one  is  going  into  the  house  for  tea," 
she  exclaimed  in  an  injured  tone.  "  Are  you  com- 
ing ?  I  don't  like  to  go  by  myself,  I  don't  know  the 
people." 

"  Dear  me,"  apologized  Lady  Giddy,  "  I  had  no  idea 
it  was  so  late,  and  I  thought  you  were  with  Lord 
Pimlico  looking  at  the  races." 

"  He's  gone  off  with  Theo  somewhere.  They've 
been  away  together  all  the  afternoon.  As  for  the 
races,"  continued  Lady  Elizabeth  discontentedly,  as 
they  walked  towards  the  house,  "  I  saw  nothing  of 
them.  I'm  too  old  to  care  about  such  things,  and 
there  are  really  very  few  people  here  one  knows.  I 
only  saw  the  terrible  Sir  Cincinnatus — just  in  .time, 
fortunately,  to  avoid  him.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  some 
queer  actress  creatures  in  a  gaudy  house-boat  and  those 
delightful  nigger  minstrels,  I  should  have  been  bored 
to  death.  There  was  really  no  one  to  talk  to,"  she 


228  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

grumbled,  determined  to  make  her  hostess  feel  the  full 
enormity  of  her  delinquencies. 

Meanwhile  Cory  ton  and  Violet  had  paddled  over  to 
Lord  Muskery's  launch  in  a  Canadian  canoe ;  or  rather 
Violet  had  done  the  paddling,  while  he  lay  among  the 
cushions  and  looked  at  her  admiringly.  She  appealed 
to  his  sense  of  fitness ;  there  was  a  vitality,  a  capabil- 
ity about  her  every  movement. 

Violet  showed  to  advantage  on  the  river.  She  was 
not  one  of  the  women  who  dress  overmuch  for  Henley, 
but  there  was  an  exquisite  freshness  and  neatness  about 
her  well-fitting  white  serge,  her  brown  leather  boots 
and  the  little  hat  with  the  dark  blue  ribbon  perched  so 
coquettishly  011  her  dainty  curls,  which  put  to  shame 
the  more  elaborate  toilets  around  her. 

They  fell  to  talking  in  a  desultory  way  about  the 
subject  which  interested  them  most,  namely,  them- 
selves. What  would  have  struck  a  listener  most  was 
the  absence  of  sentiment  on  both  sides.  There  were 
no  "  pawings  and  maulings,"  no  eloquent  looks,  no 
half  murmured  words.  They  might  have  been  arrang- 
ing their  dinner  instead  of  the  great  event  of  their 
lives. 

Nothing  could  be  more  admirable  than  their  plans, 
if  only  one  fatal  flaw  had  not  run  through  them  all. 
Neither  of  them  was  frank  with  the  other.  Coryton 
had  urged  in  the  most  convincing  way  the  futility  of  a 
long  engagement — the  thought  of  his  unpaid  bills  had 
added  a  touch  of  eloquence  to  his  pleading — and  Violet 
was  a  little  tired  of  an  unsettled  life,  and  of  staying 
about  with  people  whose  only  thought  was  to  get  her 
settled. 

So  they  agreed  to  be  married  in  the  autumn. 

Violet  deftly  piloted  the  canoe  through  the  crowd 
of  boats,  until  they  came  alongside  Lord  Baltinglass's 
launch — a  luxurious  craft  with  a  gaily  striped  awning 
and  heaps  of  cushions  and  flowers.  Tea  was  going  on 
when  they  boarded  her,  and  there  were  a  good  many 
people  sitting  about,  but  the  two  whom  they  had 
come  especially  to  see,  Wilfrid  and  Gwendolen,  were 
not  there. 

"  They  disappeared  just  after  luncheon,  and  we  have 


HENLEY  REGATTA.  229 

not  seen  them  since,"  explained  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles, 
who  wore  a  gorgeous  costume,  which  she  fondly  im- 
agined was  just  suited  for  the  river,  and  which  she  had 
donned  with  a  view  of  subjugating  Lord  Baltinglass  of 
Blarney. 

"  We'll  wait  a  little,  they'll  probably  turn  up  for 
some  tea  presently,"  said  Coryton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  ejaculated  Miss  Tyrconnel  with 
a  pensive  shake  of  her  ringlets.  "  They  have  most 
likely  forgotten  all  about  it.  Ah  me  !  How  sweet 
is  Love's  young  dream  !  You  can  sympathize  with 
them,  can't  you  dear  ? "  And  she  looked  towards 
Violet. 

"  I  confess  I  can't,"  rejoined  that  young  lady.  "  I 
don't  understand  that  sort  of  thing  myself.  Give  me 
one  of  those  little  cakes,  Poley." 

Miss  Tyrconnel  was  right.  Those  of  whom  they 
were  speaking  had  no  more  thought  of  tea  than  of 
the  deluge.  They  were  finding  their  all  in  one 
another. 

Tyrconnel  had  sculled  up  the  stream,  and  when  they 
had  got  beyond  sight  of  the  shouting  crowd  he  had 
moored  the  boat  alongside  the  bank.  Here,  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  great  alder-tree,  whose  branches  swung 
their  creamy  blossoms  low  above  heads,  they  whiled 
away  the  hours,  "  the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world 
forgot." 

They  were  both  very  much  in  love,  though  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  Tyrconnel  worshipped  Gwendolen  with 
all  the  passion  of  an  emotional,  impressionable  nature. 
Passion  seemed  hardly  the  word  to  apply  to  Gwen- 
dolen. She  was  as  pure  as  snow,  and  as  cold.  Yet 
the  love  she  felt  for  him  softened  her  nature  some- 
what, for  she  loved  him  with  all  the  first  freshness  of 
a  woman  who  loves  once  and  can  never  love  again. 
But  though  it  softened  her,  it  did  not  change  her.  She 
strove  to  raise  him  to  her  pedestal,  but  she  did  not 
come  down  one  step  to  meet  him. 

There  are  some  women  who  love  the  part  of  coun- 
sellor and  adviser.  Gwendolen  was  one  of  these.  She 
spoke  to  him  eloquently  of  the  iniquity  of  yielding  to 


230  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

temptation, — she  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
be  tempted !  She  spoke  to  him  of  the  sufferings  of 
others, — she  who  had  never  known  .what  it  was  to 
suffer !  She  was  burning  with  a  desire  to  set  the 
world  right,- — she  who  had  no  more  idea  of  the  world 
than  an  unborn  babe  ! 

But  however  unselfish  one  may  be,  however  rigid  in 
one's  spotless  purity — when  one  is  young  and  when 
one  loves,  one  is  apt  now  and  then  to  let  other  con- 
siderations slide,  and  to  find  the  joy  of  loving  enough. 

Gwendolen  felt  this  to  a  certain  extent  to-day  as  she 
talked  with  her  lover  under  the  blossoming  alder 
boughs,  and  looked  at  the  scudding  ripples  on  the 
river's  breast.  lSTot  that  they  talked  much,  for  when 
one  loves  most,  one  says  least.  Yet  ever  and  anon 
their  thoughts  found  vent  in  words,  as  now — when  she 
was  telling  him  how  she  meant  to  help  him  in  the  new 
life  which  lay  before  them.  There  was  a  glow  of 
enthusiasm  lighting  up  her  face,  he  seemed  to  catch 
the  reflex  of  it. 

"  Dear  one,"  he  said  presently.  "  Do  you  never  think 
of  yourself?" 

"  If  one  lives  for  oneself,  one  lives  for  but  a  little 
thing,"  she  answered.  "  I  live  for  you,  Wilfrid.  You 
are  my  other  self." 

"  And  you  are  my  nobler  one,"  he  vowed,  bending 
nearer  to  her.  Then  a  shadow  fell  over  his  face. 
"  Sometimes,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  our  hap- 
piness is  too  bright  to  last.  Will  you  love  me  always  ?  " 

"  Always,  always,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  out 
of  the  steady  depths  of  her  calm,  beautiful  eyes. 

Foolish  vow,  which  lovers  always  use.  What  does  it 
mean  but  that  two  beings,  essentially  changeable, 
pledge  themselves  never  to  change? 

"  Can  you  doubt  me,  Wilfrid  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  never  that — I  only  doubt  my  worth- 
iness    Swear  to  me,  Gwen,  that  nothing  shall 

part  us — nothing — -past,  present,  or  to  come." 

She  looked  at  him,  a  little  startled  by  his  earnest- 
ness. It  was  one  of  his  moods,  she  thought ;  it  would 
pass. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  I  will  love  you  always,"  she 


HENLE  Y  BEG  A  TTA.  231 

said  softly.  "  What  can  part  us  ?  The  past  is  over 
and  gone.  You  have  told  me  all."  He  shrank 
a  little  at  this,  but  she  did  not  notice  it.  "  The  future 
lies  with  God.  Surely  the  present  is  enough.  We 
havs  no  secrets  from  each  other,  you  and  I.  Let  us 
then  be  happy  in  the  perfect  confidence  which  love 
brings. " 

"  The  perfect  confidence  which  love  brings,"  he  re- 
peated ;  "  and  love  is  merciful  and  forgiving,  is  it  not  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  bowed  his  head.  A 
struggle  was  going  on  within  him.  He  had  not  told 
her  all.  The  memory  of  a  half-forgotten  sin  rose  be- 
fore him And  she  trusted  him He  shrank 

from  polluting  her  pure  ears  by  even  hinting  at  what 

was  past.  But  she  trusted  him And  then  he 

knew  not  how  she  would  take  it.  What  some  would 
consider  a  mere  boyish  indiscretion  might  seem  to 
Gwendolen  a  mortal  sin.  No,  he  could  not  run  the  risk 
of  losing  her But  she  trusted  him 

"  Gwen,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  what  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  something  more, — something " 

What  he  meant  to  say  was  never  uttered.  At  that 
moment  a  shout  of  noisy  laughter,  the  splashing  of  oars 
broke  upon  their  ears  and  a  boat  passed  by  them. 
There  were  four  people  in  it — of  the  Cockney  Bohe- 
mian type.  Two  men  were  rowing,  a  girl  was  steering, 
and  another  girl  was  lying  down  in  the  bows.  They 
were  all  in  boisterously  high  spirits,  the  girl  in  the 
bows  had  a  banjo,  and  a  gaudy  Japanese  umbrella. 

"  Look  out,  Sally,"  cried  one  of  the  men,  "  take  care 
where  you  are  going  to,  or  we  shall  be  into  that  boat  in 
a  jiff." 

Tyrconnel  looked  up  to  ward  off  the  threatened  dan- 
ger and,  as  he  did  so,  his  eyes  met  full  those  of  the  girl 
steering.  A  shock  of  surprise  and  disgust  ran  through 
him,  the  words  he  had  been  forming  died  away  upon 
his  lips.  He  felt  like  one  who  is  suddenly  confronted 
with  the  ghost  of  an  unforgiven  sin.  Here  was  the  sin 
incarnate  in  the  form  of  Sally  Popkins. 

Sally  was  also  taken  aback  for  the  moment,  with  sur- 
prise probably.  But  she  recovered  an  instant  later, 
and  leaned  forward  with  a  sort  of  half  smile  of  recog- 


232  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

nition.  But  seeing  that  Tyrconnel  responded  not,  the 
bow  was  strangled  in  its  birth  and  her  smile  changed 
to  a  melancholy  reproachful  gaze.  She  pulled  the 
wrong  rope — there  came  a  volley  of  remonstrance — 
more  laughter,  and  the  boat  swept  on. 

But  Gwendolen  had  caught  that  look  too. 

"Who  is  that  person  who  looked  at  you  so  strangely, 
Wilfrid? "she  asked  with  a  puzzled  air.  "such  an 
extraordinary  looking  creature !  Have  you  seen  her 
before  ?  " 

"  I — I — don't  know,"  stammered  Tyrconnel  confus- 
edly— "  I  believe  so.  Don't  you  think  it  is  time  we 
were  getting  back,  Gwen  ? — What  a  nuisance,  I  have 
let  my  scull  fall  into  the  water." 

In  the  excitement  of  fishing  it  out  again,  Gwendolen 
forgot,  for  a  time,  the  look  she  had  noticed  on  the  girl's 
face 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

We  mutually  pledge  to  each  other  our  lives  our  fortunes  and  our 
sacred  honor. — THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

THE  Coryton-Tresillian  wedding  was  pronounced  by 
the  society  papers  to  be  one  of  the  events  of  the 
autumn.  That  is  to  say,  there  were  a  great  many 
well-dressed  people  at  St.  Peter's,  Eaton  Square,  with 
favors  and  flowers  galore.  The  bride's  dress — like 
most  bride's  dresses — was  of  ivory  duchesse  satin, 
trimmed  with  Alen£on  lace  and  there  were  the  usual 
sprigs  of  aphrodysiac  orange-blossom,  inappropriate 
emblem  of  innocence.  There  were  eight  white  brides- 
maids with  Charles  the  First  hats  and  long  white 
feathers  that  waggled  all  down  their  backs ;  there  were 
two  little  page-boys,  nephews  of  Sir  Edward  Tresillian, 
who  held  up  the  bride's  train  and  looked  quite  pictur- 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE.   233 

esque  with  their  golden  love-locks  and  cavalier  cos- 
tumes of  white  velvet. 

After  the  ceremony,  everybody  trooped  off  to  the 
Lockharts'  house  in  Grosvenor  Place,  kindly  lent  for 
the  occasion,  and  suggestive  comments  were  inter- 
changed, hollow  congratulations  offered.  The  wedding 
presents  were  displayed  on  long  tables  all  round  the 
drawing-room  and  suggested  a  charity  bazaar,  espe- 
cially by  their  tawdriness  and  vulgarity.  Lord  South- 
wark  had  sent  a  half-guinea  nickel  ink-pot,  which 
Violet  mentally  destined  for  the  servants'  hall,  when 
she  got  one.  Seventeen  people  of  wealth  and  good 
position  had  sent  silver  muffineers,  which  afterwards 
only  fetched  two  and  three-pence  each  as  old  silver. 
An  obscure  painter-man  had  taken  this  opportunity 
of  exhibiting  one  of  his  daubs  to  a  larger  audience 
than  he  had  ever  secured  before,  and  an  obscure  nov- 
elist had  taken  the  same  opportunity  of  advertis- 
ing his  three- volume  shocker.  Miss  Tyrconnel's  pres- 
ent of  half  a  dozen  Nainsook  night-caps  was  hid- 
den away  under  the  plethoric  family  Bible  with  which 
she  accompanied  them.  Pimlico's  roulette  board  was 
carefully  wrapped  up  in  its  cloth.  Coryton  and  Vio- 
let were  supposed  to  be  rising  stars  and  their  most 
ephemeral  acquaintances  took  the  opportunity  of  prov- 
ing their  regard  without  overtaxing  their  pockets. 
Violet  had  remarked,  as  each  fresh  present  arrived, 
that  such  meanness  defeated  itself,  for  the  object 
of  a  wedding  present  was  to  give  pleasure  and  exact 
remembrance,  while  these  trumpery  offerings  did 
neither. 

Violet  had  gone  through  the  trying  ordeal  very 
well,  contriving  to  combine  a  certain  affectation  of 
demureness  and  a  pathetic  by-play  of  her  big  round 
eyes  with  an  airy  cheerfulness  as  rare  in  a  bride  as  it 
is  delightful.  The  women  congratulated  her  ironi- 
cally on  her  pluck  and  went  off  to  whisper  in  each 
other's  long  ears  that  it  was  "  most  unmaidenly." 
The  men  were  inclined  to  think  Coryton  had  got 
"  rather  a  handful,"  but  all  agreed  she  was  "  a  deuced 
pretty  girl."  A  knot  of  young  men  began  discussing 
the  question  how  long  she  would  take  to  get  tired  of 


234  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

him  and  how  she  would  treat  her  admirers  in  another 
six  months. 

"  They  are  neither  of  them  the  sort  of  people  one 
would  care  to  marry,"  said  Gaverigan  airily.  "  They 
are  fairly  good  company  so  long  as  one  does  not  see 
too  much  of  them.  A  week  alone  with  either  would 
hore  me  off  my  head — to  say  nothing  of  a  lifetime ! 
People  who  want  to  get  on  in  life  always  bore  me. 
They  are  so  cursed  commonplace." 

"  They  are  very  cynical,"  said  Toadey-Snaile,  who 
disliked  Gaverigan,  "  and  there  is  nothing  so  common- 
place as  that  nowadays." 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Williams.  "  The 
girl's  as  fresh  and  original  as  they  make  them.  I've 
heard  her  startle  the  stupidest  people  with  the  things 
she  says " 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  often  startles  you,"  sneered  Wil- 
mot,  with  the  privileged  rudeness  of  intimacy. 

"  Be  quiet.  I  only  mean  she  says  astounding  things 
to  the  most  correct  people  and  yet  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  is  devoted  to  her.  I  call  that  a  proof  of 
cleverness,  if  you  like." 

"How  sick  she'll  get  of  Mr.  Coryton  before  the 
honeymoon's  over,"  put  in  Theodora,  who  always  joined 
in  the  confabulations  of  young  men.  "  I  do  hate  young 
men  who  always  let  you  see  they  are  thinking  about 
their  prospects." 

" ' M  yes.  Other  people's  prospects  don't  interest  one, 
do  they  ?  "  said  Gaverigan. 

"  That  depends  on  who  they  are." 

"  Pirn,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  You  cheeky  chap !  No,  I  only  meant  that  it 
offends  me  to  have  '  comin'  men  '  give  themselves  all 
those  airs  before  they've  come,  don't  you  know?  Big 
bosses  don't  put  on  all  that  side.  It's  all  very  well  to 
say  he's  clever.  I  don't  call  it  clever  to  have  that 
manner." 

"  Oh  !  well.  I  don't  know.  People  generally  take 
one  at  one's  own  valuation.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Corry  ?  "  Gaverigan  went  on,  as  the  bridegroom  joined 
the  group. 

"Or  at  that  of  what  the  lawyers  call   one's  'next 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE.  235 

friend,'  who  knows  more  than  all  one's  weak  points 
and — like  the  'damned  good-natured  fellow'  he  is — 
takes  a  pleasure  in  proclaiming  them." 

"  But  surely  frankness  is  one  of  the  highest  privi- 
leges of  intimacy." 

"Frankness!  What  is  that?"  he  replied,  turning 
on  his  heel.  "  Frankness  consists  in  telling  plausible 
untruths  to  your  face,  and  outrageous  ones  behind 
your  back,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"Bridegroom  seems  fresh,  don't  he?"  said  Pimlico, 
in  his  sporting  lingo.  "  Vixie'll  have  to  ride  him  with 
the  snaffle  and  put  the  blinkers  on  him." 

At  last  Violet  got  a  chance  of  saying  a  few  words 
privately  to  her  husband. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  let's  get  this  over  as  soon  as  we 
can,"  she  whispered.  "  I've  thanked  two  hundred  and 
ninety-three  people  for  their  congratulations  and  a 
hundred  and  seventy-five  for  their  presents,  without 
making  a  single  mistake.  Nineteen  old  men  have  said, 
'  God  bless  you ! '  to  me,  and  at  least  as  many  old 
women  have  made  the  most  embarrassing  allusions." — 
She  blushed  in  the  daintiest  way  as  she  said  this. — 
"•And  really  I  can't  stand  it  much  longer." 

"  There's  only  half  an  hour  more,  thank  goodness !  " 
returned  Coryton,  his  dark  face  lighting  up  with  a 
sunny  smile.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  quite  rude  to 
some  of  these  precious  sight-seers.  Modern  marriage  is 
really  a  most  disagreeable  process.  If  we  ever  have  to 
go  through  it  again,  we'll  go  straight  from  the  church 
to  the  station,  won't  we  ?  " 

Violet  laughed.  "  To  judge  from  our  impatience, 
anybody'd  think  we  were  madly  in  love  with  each 
other, — the  sort  of  young  fools  who  go  in  for  '  love  in  a 
cottage,'  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Instead  of  a  honeymoon  at  Monte  Carlo,  followed  by 
love  in  a  little  box  in  Mayfair,  eh  ? "  he  returned. 
"  Well,  even  if  I  weren't  yearning  for  heaven  with  you, 
I  should  be  sick  of  this  purgatory  by  this  time." 

*'  Come,  you're  getting  on.  Compliments  from  Poley 
are  compliments  indeed,  aren't  they,  Miss  Gargoyle  ?  " 

"Don't  know.  Never  tried  'em,"  returned  that 
young  woman  in  her  downright  way.  "  S'pose  you're 


236  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

off  soon.  Anyhow  I  am.  This  kind  of  show  sickens 
me.  Xo  offence,  mind.  I  hope  you'll  have  a  real  good 
time.  Must  say  J  envy  you  Monte  just  now, — it's  rip- 
pin'  there  before  the  rabble  sets  in.  You  and  I  must 
be  good  pals  all  the  same. — I  don't  mind  lettin'  you 
into  a  secret " — and  she  took  Violet  aside  mysteriously 
and  talked  to  her  in  a  loud  stage  whisper — "Pirn  and  I 
are  going  to  follow  suit  in  the  spring.  Ain't  it  horrid  ? 
I  1  lush  all  over  every  time  I  think  of  it." 

"  You'll  soon  get  used  to  it,"  laughed  Violet,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  all  this  unusual  amiability. 
"  Well,  if  you  really  must  be  going,  good-bye.  Thanks 
awfully  for  coming  to  see  me. — I  daresay  we  shall  see 
you  down  south  later  on." 

The  guests  were  thinning  a  little  and  it  was  almost 
time  to  prepare  for  departure.  Violet  heaved  a  great 
sigh  of  relief.  She  was  not  quite  sure  she  had  done 
wisely  in  marrying  this  man,  and  a  haunting  dread  of 
the  future  possessed  her.  She  liked  him  and  believed, 
he  was  bound  to  get  on.  But  that  was  very  different 
from  the  love  which  liopeth  all  things,  endureth  all 
things, — even  poverty  in  a  cottage.  She  laughed 
softly  to  herself.  Poverty  !  No,  that  was  not  a  thing 
she  could  endure  with  any  one.  Phew !  Was  she  so 
very  cocksure  that  there  would  be  plenty  to  live  on  ? 
The  settlements  had  been  very  carelessly  gone  into 
and,  when  she  came  to  think  of  it,  the  £1,000  a  year 
that  had  been  settled  on  her  had  only  been  settled  on 
paper  and,  for  all  she  knew,  her  husband  might  not 
have  a  thousand  pence  to  bless  himself  with.  Her  solic- 
itors had  not  advised  minute  inquiries,  as  the  object 
of  their  diplomacy  was  to  conceal  by  vague  promises 
and  ambiguous  phrases  the  nakedness  of  the  land,  and 
it  was  feared,  as  Mr.  Soapsuds,  the  senior  partner, 
phrased  it,  that  "  inquiries  might  breed  inquiries." 

However,  she  was  not  a  person  to  anticipate  evil. 
So  long  as  things  were  going  well  for  the  moment, 
she  was  quite  content  to  let  the  future  take  care  of 
itself.  Poley  was  a  dear  boy  and  the  beginning  of 
one's  first  honeymoon  is  always  an  inspiring  period 
even  for  the  most  blase.  She  determined  none  the 
less  to  take  an  early  opportunity  of  learning  the  exact 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE.  237 

state  of  affairs  from  her  husband  and  putting  an  end  to 
this  suspense.  Her  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  with  outstretched 
hand  and  beaming  face. 

"  At  last  I  have  an  opportunity  of  giving  you  all  my 
good  wishes ! "  he  exclaimed  breathlessly.  "  I  have 
been  looking  for  an  opportunity  all  the  afternoon,  but 
you  were  always  busy  with  some  old  fossil  or  other. 
And  now  you  are  just  off  and  you  will  never  be  the 
same  Vixie  again." 

"  Bless  me !  Have  you  got  such  a  volume  of  good 
wishes  for  me  as  all  that  ?  Very  well,  fire  ahead.  I 
can  still  give  you  ten  minutes." 

"  Don't  joke,  Vixie.  I  am  quite  sad  about  it.  Be- 
lieve me,"  he  stammered,  "  I  do  hope  you'll  be  very, 
very  happy.  I  used  to  think  at  one  time  I  might  per- 
haps have  had  some  share  in  making  you  happy.  But 
somehow  we  seem  to  have  drifted  apart.  Corry's  a 
good  chap  and  all  that,  but  somehow  I  never  thought 
that  he — that  you — 

"  Were  likely  to  fall  head  over  ears  in  love  with  any- 
body, least  of  all  with  each  other,"  she  said  rather  bit- 
terly, helping  him  through  in  his  confusion. 

"  Well,  he  has  not  your  fine  feelings.  I  never 
thought  you  were  cut  out  for  each  other  exactly.  But 
as  you  have  chosen  him,  I  suppose  you  do  love  him 
and  I  hope  and  pray  that  he  may  make  you  happy — 
may  be  worthy  of  you." 

"  Pray ! "  she  murmured,  half  to  herself,  with  a 
shade  of  displeasure  in  her  tones.  Why  did  this  youth 
come  and  put  doubts  into  her  head  just  as  she  was 
making  an  effort  to  put  them  out  ? 

"  Yes,  pray"  he  returned  earnestly.  "  You  know 
I  never  set  up  to  be  a  religious  chap." — Violet  smiled,  < 
as  the  thought  of  Gwendolen  flitted  through  her  mind. 
— "  But  I  believe  that  sometimes  prayers  are  heard 
and  I,  who  have  a  very  deep  regard  for  you,  do  pray 
earnestly  that  all  possible  happiness  may  be  yours." 

He  seemed  deeply  moved  and  Violet's  quick  sym- 
pathies were  touched  at  once. 

"  You  are  a  kind  boy,  Pidge,"  she  said  gently,  tak- 
ing his  hand,  "  and  I  am  sure  I  can  always  count  on 


238  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

you  as  a  friend,  even  though  others  may  come  between 
us." 

A  blush  rose  to  his  cheek. 

"  Xo  one  shall  prevent  my  being  your  friend,  al- 
ways" he  said  simply. 

"  Gwendolen  doesn't  like  me "  she  began. 

"  You  and  she  have  never  got  on  very  well,  because 
you  are  so  different,"  he  interrupted.  "But  you 
wrong  her  in  saying  she  does  not  like  you.  She  does 
not  understand  you  as  I  do,  but  she  is  always  eager 
to  think  the  best  of  every  one.  We  shall  always 
desire  your  welfare.  You  know,"  he  added  con- 
fusedly, "that  we  are  going  to  be  married  almost 
immediately !  " 

"  I  have  long  expected  it.  I  shall  certainly — '  pray  ' 
for  you !  Miss  Haviland  deserves  all  congratulations. 
Look  here,  Pidge,  aren't  you  rather  a  queer  fellow, 
coming  here  to  declare  your  eternal  devotion  to  me, 
just  when  I'm  married  to  another  man  and  you're 
engaged  to  another  girl  ?  All  right,  old  boy,"  she 
added  almost  affectionately,  "  we'll  swear  eternal 
friendship,  won't  we?  I  only  hope  you  may  be  as 
happy  as  we  are  going  to  be.  Eh,  Poley  ?  "  she  added, 
as  her  husband  came  to  claim  her. 

What  a  relief  when  at  last  they  were  clear  of  the 
nagging  crowd  and  were  driving  off  to  the  station 
with  tell-tale  grains  of  rice  in  the  folds  of  their  clothes 
and  an  old  shoe  lingering  among  the  rugs.  For  the 
first  time  there  was  a  feeling  of  constraint  between 
them  and  neither  spoke  for  some  time.  At  last  Violet, 
whom  a  silence  always  bored,  put  on  a  little  senti- 
mental pout  arid  said, 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  don't  regret  the  step  we're 
taking,  Poley  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  he  said  without  enthusiasm.  "  We 
thought  it  well  out  beforehand  and  it's  going  to  lead 
to  a  big  boom, — all  the  bigger  perhaps  because  we  are 
hampered  by  no  childish  illusions  about  love." 

Violet  screwed  up  her  face  with  a  dissatisfied  air. 

"  If  you  say  so,"  she  returned,  "  I  suppose  it  must 
be  so.  But  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  repeating 
it  so  often.  If  you  don't  love  me,  you  might  at  least 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE.  239 

have  the-  politeness  to  pretend  to  on  our  wedding- 
day." 

There  was  enough  resentment  in  Violet's  tones  to 
arrest  Coryton's  attention,  but  it  never  struck  him 
that  it  could  be  anything  more  than  pique.  He  was 
in  a  nervous  irritable  mood,  chiefly  from  a  haunting 
doubt  that  perhaps  this  marriage  was  a  rash  specu- 
lation, as  well  as  from  extreme  anxiety  to  know  what 
they  would  have  to  live  upon.  He  was  meditating 
how  he  should  ask  her,  but  even  his  cynical  nature 
shrank  from  such  a  step  at  this  stage  of  the  honey- 
moon. Besides,  his  policy  of  always  seeking  to  please 
and  keep  everybody  in  perpetual  good-humor  had 
become  so  much  a  habit  with  him  that  it  was  almost  a 
second  nature.  So  he  took  his  cue  from  her  mood  at 
once  and  patted  her  little  gloved  hand  with  some  show 
of  tenderness,  saying, 

"I  believe  we  love  each  other  as  far  as  we  are 
capable  of  such  an  emotion,  either  of  us.  At  any  rate 
we  have  what  is  much  more  important  for  a  happy 
marriage,  and  that  is,  the  same  interests  and  the  same 
character." 

Violet  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  I  am  foolish  enough  to  care  a  great  deal  more  for 
you  than  you  do  for  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  know  that 
any  unhappiness  the  marriage  may  bring  forth  will 
fall  upon  my  shoulders.  Some  people  say  it  is  always 
the  woman  that  suffers  most.  I  don't  believe  that.  It 
is  the  one  who  feels  most  deeply." 

"  It  is  a  mistake  to  feel  deeply  about  anything,"  he 
said  lightly,  "  and  I  don't  believe  we  either  of  us  really 
do.  Least  of  all  should  we  feel  deeply  during  that 
mad  carnival,  known  as  the  honeymoon.  A  well- 
arranged  life  is  one  continuous  honeymoon  and  a  well- 
arranged  honeymoon  has  nothing  of  real  life  about  it 
except  its  continuity." 

"  Those  are  good  rules  for  fair  weather.  But  there 
must  be  love  to  take  one  through  a  storm.  If  we 
were  poor,  for  instance" — she  scrutinized  his  face 
anxiously,  as  she  said  this,  but  learned  nothing, — "if 
w  3  were  poor  we  couldn't  rub  along  on  those  terms." 

"  Or  on  any  others,  for  the  matter  of  that,"  he  re- 


240  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

turned.  "  I  don't  agree  with  you  that  love  would  help 
to  make  poverty  tolerable.  One  would  feel  so  much 
more  acutely  the  privations  undergone  by  somebody 
one  loved  better  than  oneself, — if  you  can  conceive  the 
existence  of  such  a  person,"  he  added,  with  his  sneer- 
ing smile. 

"  You  rascal,  of  course  I  can,"  she  answered  re- 
proachfully, "and  I  believe  the  pleasure  of  smoothing 
away  those  privations  for  him  would  more  than  coun- 
terbalance the  pain  of  enduring  them — or  even  of  wit- 
nessing them." 

"  Come  now,  Vixie.  Such  a  sentiment  from  you  is 
too  outrageous.  You  really  might  give  up  trying  to 
astonish  me  now.  I  believe  you  only  say  things  just 
too  see  how  wide  you  can  make  people  open  their  eyes." 

"  Well,  that  is  an  amusement,  as  you  know  yourself. 
But  I  am  serious  this  time.  I  believe — quite  apart 
from  sentiment  or  any  such  rot — that  love  is  a  most 
useful  commodity  in  marriage, — if  you  can  get  it." 

"I  daresay.  But  you  can't.  There  isn't  such  a 
thing,  at  least  not  after  the  first  month  is  over  and 
the  gilt  has  been  rubbed  off  the  gingerbread." 

"  At  any  rate  love  is  the  only  thing  that  can  make 
poverty  endurable." 

"  I  don't  agree  at  all.  Love  is  excess  of  sentiment. 
If  poverty  could  ever  be  made  endurable,  it  would  be 
by  the  utter  absence  of  sentiment.  I  have  always  tried 
to  educate  myself  not  to  care  a  twopenny  dam  what 
happens.  That  is  the  true  philosophy.  If  you  have  that 
and  an  unshakable  belief  in  yourself,  nothing  can  dis- 
concert you.  Poverty  will  only  be  a  temporary  incon- 
venience, hardship  a  means  to  an  end,  and  economy  a 
policy." 

"  What  a  subject  for  a  honeymoon !  I  am  sure  I 
hope  we  may  never  have  to  put  our  theories  to  the 
proof.  As  for  me,  I  have  no  patience  with  poor  people. 
It  is  always  people's  own  fault  if  they  are  poor.  If 
you  play  your  cards  well,  you  can  always  get  credit  for 
your  luxuries  and  then  the  necessaries  can  take  care  of 
themselves.  And  the  people  I  have  least  patience  with 
are  those  who  are  forever  parading  their  poverty.  I 
consider  that  much  more  vulgar  than  parading  riches, 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE.  241 

as  Lord  Baltinglass  and  people  of  his  kidney  do.  How- 
ever poor  I  was,  I  should  have  too  much  self-respect 
to  parade  my  poverty." 

"  Of  course,  no  wise  person  parades  poverty,  unless 
he  is  very  rich,  any  more  than  a  true  gentleman  ever 
makes  a  parade  of  riches  unless  he  is  as  poor  as  a  rat. 
Then  he  has  to." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  station  and  they 
found  they  had  some  minutes  to  wait  before  the  train, 
which  was  to  take  them  as  far  as  Dover.  Sir  Edward 
Tresillian's  confidential  valet  had  made  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  comfort  and  privacy,  which  a  honeymoon 
is  supposed  to  require.  A  private  compartment  had 
been  taken,  and  the  usual  necessaries  of  travel  pro- 
vided :  a  hamper  from  Benoit's,  all  the  evening  papers 
and  a  selection  of  two-shilling  novels. 

Couples  on  their  honeymoons  are  supposed  not  to 
want  companionship.  At  any  rate  they  feel  they  must 
conform  to  custom  so  far  as  to  travel  by  themselves. 
People  always  look  at  the  newly-married  in  a  horribly 
embarrassing  way  and  modesty,  as  well  as  custom,  re- 
quires a  retreat.  But  when  the  retreat  has  been  found 
and  the  guard  has  tipped  his  last  wink  and  the  engine 
has  given  its  first  outward  puff,  food  and  literature  are 
invaluable  resources. 

"  How  thoughtful  of  Cribble  to  get  us  all  those  yel- 
low-backs," Violet  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  they  were  in- 
stalled. "  I  really  could  not  have  stood  another  half 
hour  of  your  epigrams." 

"Well,  there's  Gaverigan  coming  along  with  lug- 
gage and  hampers  and  an  air  of  infinite  content  on  his 
face.  Would  you  like  him  in  our  carriage  to  relieve 
you  of  the  tedium  of  my  society  all  the  way  to 
Dover  ?  " 

Nothing  that  any  one  could  say  ever  ruffled  Coryton's 
imperturbable  good-humor. 

"  Oh !  yes,  do,"  Violet  exclaimed,  clapping  her  hands 
delightedly.  And  then,  seeing  a  comical  look  of  dis- 
tress on  her  husband's  face,  she  added,  "  Not  that  I 
don't  like  being  with  you,  Poley,  old  boy,  but  we  shall 
see  such  a  lot  of  each  other  presently  that  an  hour  or 
two  now  won't  make  any  difference," 


242  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  Vixie,"  he  said,  as  he 
beckoned  Gaverigan.  "  I'm  not  so  thin-skinned  as  all 
that." 

Gaverigan  was  on  his  way  to  Monte  Carlo  and  was 
at  once  subjected  to  a  good  deal  of  chaff  about  his 
discretion  in  concealing  his  intention  at  the  wedding. 
He  vowed  that  he  never  made  up  his  mind  to  go  there 
until  the  last  moment  and  always  kept  the  whole  thing 
a  profound  secret.  In  this  case  he  had  been  especially 
deterred  from  a  confession  by  his  desire  not  to  intrude 
upon  the  happy  pair,  when  they  would  most  of  all 
wish  to  be  left  alone. 

The  happy  pair,  however,  protested  that  that  was 
what  they  least  of  all  wished. 

"  You  can't  think  how  shy  we  are,  Mr.  Gaverigan," 
Violet  exclaimed.  "  Do  come  and  be  chaperone." 

Gaverigan,  however,  required  a  great  deal  of  per- 
suasion, but  was  at  last  sufficiently  tickled  by  the 
novelty  of  the  proposal  to  make  him  give  way.  They 
had  a  very  merry  journey  down,  the  hampers  occu- 
pying them  most  of  the  way  and  a  game  of  stud-poker 
keeping  them  amused  for  the  rest. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  this  is  the  most  original  journey  I 
ever  heard  of,"  Gaverigan  exclaimed  more  than  once. 
"I  can  only  think  of  one  detail  that  could  possibly 
have  made  it  more  original  and  that  would  have  been 
for  Coryton  to  travel  in  the  public  car  and  for  you  and 
me  to  go  alone  in  the  honeymoon  compartment,  eh, 
Vixie  ?  " 

"  I  wish  we'd  thought  of  that,"  she  laughed,  "  and 
so  does  Poley.  He's  tired  of  me  already." 

Coryton  certainly  looked  as  if  the  whole  business 
bored  him.  He  was  feeling  uneasy  about  the  future, — 
an  unusual  thing  with  him, — and  his  nervousness 
seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  his  wife.  Her  last 
remark  was  uttered  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling,  which 
the  bantering  tone  she  had  assumed  did  not  entirely 
cloak.  Coryton,  who  had  quick  perceptions,  noticed 
it  at  once  and  watched  her  curiously  for  some  mo- 
ments. 

Then  he  turned  to  Gaverigan  with  a  ludicrous  shrug 
and  said, 


THE  GRAFTING  OF  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE.  243 

"  You  see,  we're  so  confoundedly  shy  about  all  this 
business  that  we  have  to  make  a  parade  of  indifference 
before  other  people,  but  when  we  are  alone,  we're  just 
as  much  spoons  as  any  other  honey  in  ooners,  aren't 
we,  Vixie?" 

"This  is  the  most  agreeable  journey  I've  ever 
known,"  exclaimed  Gaverigan,  interrupting  him, — 
"  and  the  journey  from  London  to  Monte  Carlo  always 
is  very  agreeable, — at  any  rate  to  an  expert  traveller." 

"  Like  yourself,"  Violet  put  in. 

Gaverigan  made  a  deep  bow. 

"  I  say,"  he  went  on,  "  it  would  be  jolly  if  you  people 
would  consent  to  come  straight  on,  instead  of  stop- 
ping at  Dover.  It  would  be  so  delightfully  unconven- 
tional and  we'd  be  as  happy  as  sandboys.  The  jour- 
ney is  infinitely  pleasanter  if  you  do  it  without  stop- 
ping. You'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  register  your 
luggage  again  at  Dover  and  send  a  wire  to  the  Lord 
Warden.  I've  secured  a  cabin  for  the  boat,  which  is 
very  much  at  your  service." 

"I  hate  travelling  at  night,"  said  Violet  hastily. 
"  Besides,  there  are  limits  even  to  unconventionality." 

She  turned  appealingly  to  her  husband,  who  was 
watching  her  with  a  comical  expression. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  very  distinct  limits,"  he  replied. 
"  In  fact,  I  always  say  that  people  only  seek  to  attract 
attention  by  being  unconventional  when  they  can't  do 
it  in  any  other  way.  There's  one  for  you,  old  boy,"  he 
added,  getting  up,  as  the  train  rattled  into  Dover- 
Town  station,  and  slapping  Gaverigan  on  the  shoulder. 

"  But  we  shall  meet  out  there  very  soon,  Mr.  Gave- 
rigan," Violet  added,  her  face  brightening  up  with 
pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  arrival.  "  We  shall  spend 
a  fortnight  or  so  in  Paris  and  then  go  on  south  by  easy 
stages.  I  am  counting  on  you  to  initiate  me  into  all 
the  mysteries  of  roulette.  I  suppose  everybody  will 
be  there, — Lady  Giddy  and  the  Pigeon  and  the  rest. 
I  mean  to  have  a  regular  good  time." 

Gaverigan  bade  her  good-bye  with  more  effusion 
than  that  nil  admirari  youth  usually  thought  it  in- 
cumbent on  himself  to  display.  Violet's  character  in- 
terested him,  and  he  had  often  contemplated  the  possi- 


244  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TEEE. 

bility  of  making  love  to  her.  As  to  the  wisdom  of  her 
wedding  with  Coryton,  he  had  been  in  considerable 
doubt  all  along. 

"  Poor  little  girl,"  he  murmured  thoughtfully,  as  the 
train  went  on  towards  the  pier.  "  I'm  afraid  she'll 
have  rather  a  rough  time  of  it  with  that  great,  cold, 
unemotional  fathead,  Coryton.  I  shouldn't  think  any- 
thing would  move  him,  either  tears,  or  appeals,  or  death 
itself.  So  long  as  everything  goes  smoothly  he'll  be 
smooth  and  fair,  and  even  charming  in  his  way.  But 
directly  anything  goes  wrong,  there'll  be  the  very  devil. 
They  are  both  clever  and,  with  a  fair  amount  of  luck, 
there  is  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't  make  a  boom  of 
life.  But  they  can't  either  of  them  have  much  money 
behind  them  and,  without  that,  it's  always  an  up-hill 
game.  .  .  .  She  is  much  fonder  of  him  than  he  is  of 
her.  But  that'll  wear  off.  It's  always  so  to  begin 

with I  suppose  they'll  drift  into  being  knights 

of  industry  one  way  or  another.  But  I  hope  not. 
She's  much  too  nice  for  that  sort  of  thing.  ...  I  should 
like  to  meet  her  again  when  she's  lost  her  illusions, — 
if  she  has  ever  had  any.  .  .  .  !  Here,  Porter,  take  all 
these  things  on  board  the  Calais  boat." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE      LORD      WARDENS 

Philosophy  triumphs  easily  over  past  and  future  evils,  but 
present  evils  triumph  over  philosophy. — LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

A  COST  sitting-room  with  a  fire  and  a  tempting  din- 
ner awaited  the  Cory  tons  at  the  Lord  Warden  hotel, 
but  not  much  appetite  remained  to  either  of  them  after 
the  anxieties  of  the  day  and  the  convivial  journey  down. 
Violet  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  content  as  she  flung  oil 
her  wraps  and  drew  up  an  arm-chair  to  the  fire.  She 
looked  very  picturesque  with  the  glow  of  the  flames 


TEE  LORD  WARDEN.  245 

lighting  up  her  face  and  there  was  a  look  of  happiness 
upon  it  which  few  had  ever  been  privileged  to  see 
there. 

"  Dear,  dear  Poley ! "  she  exclaimed  with  some 
feeling,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "  I  really  believe 
I  must  be  in  love  with  you.  I  feel  in  such  an 
ecstatic  condition,  as  if  some  good  fairy  had  suddenly 
granted  me  all  my  desires  and  I  had  nothing  left  to 
wish  for.  I  thought  that  journey  would  never  come 
to  an  end,  but  now  my  happiness  makes  up  for  all 
that  went  before.  Oh !  Poley,  tell  me  I'm  not  dream- 
ing. Really  it  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true." 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead  without 
enthusiasm. 

"  It  is  quite  true,  nevertheless,"  he  said  half  absently, 
"  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  you'll  go  on  being  happy.  I 
mean  to  be.  But  what  has  come  over  you,  Vixie  ?  I 
thought  you  professed  not  to  care  a  snap  about  any- 
thing or  anybody." 

"  You  know  I  care  about  you,"  she  answered 
softly. 

"  Oh !  yes,  we  are  very  good  friends,"  he  returned 
discontentedly,  "  but  we  never  laid  claim  to  a  grand 
passion,  did  we  ?  Our  marriage  was  one  of  interest 
quite  as  much  as  of  friendship  after  all." 

"  Oh  !  Poley,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you're  grumbling  at  ?  Have  you 
ever  taken  any  other  tone  towards  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  One  may  not  have  illusions,  but  surely  it  is  not 
necessary  to  go  on  rubbing  in  that  or  any  other  unpleas- 
ant truth.  I  think  at  any  rate  on  our  wedding  night 
you  might  have  the  grace  to  pretend  you  care  for  me, 
even  if  you  don't." 

"  Don't  let's  quarrel,  Vixie,  especially  about  trifles. 
We  ought  to  understand  each  other  by  this  time.  We 
have  the  same  interests  and  are  going,  each  of  us,  to  do 
our  utmost  to  further  them.  What  truer  love  can 
there  be  than  that  ?  Is  it  not  much  more  practical  as 
well  as  much  more  lasting  than  the  mawkish  thing 
that  poets  and  children  drivel  about  ?  " 

Violet's  brow  had  clouded  over  and  she  was  looking, 
rather  dismally,  straight  into  the  fire. 


246  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

"  I  hardly  think  either  of  us  would  care  about  love 
in  a  cottage  !  "  he  went  on  obstinately ;  "  and  after  all, 
poverty  is  the  only  test  of  absolutely  disinterested 
affection." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  persist  in  talking  about 
that,"  she  remonstrated,  "  as  we  are  not  going  to  be 
put  to  that  test,  it  would  surely  be  more  gallant  to 
assume  that  we  should  weather  it." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  he  replied, 
seizing  the  opportunity  he  had  been  leading  up  to. 
"  for  do  you  know,  I  have  been  rather  anxious  about 
our  money  prospects  all  through." 

Violet  looked  at  him  in  amazement  for  seme  minutes 
without  speaking. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked  at  last 
without  a  trace  of  sentiment  left  in  her  voice.  "  What 
you've  settled  on  me  is  alone  more  than  enough  to 
keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  I  imagine  it  isn't  the 
whole  of  your  income." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room  several  times  in  an 
agitated  way  and  then  stood  facing  her  with  his  hands 
by  his  side,  clenched  in  a  somewhat  theatrical  attitude. 
She  looked  up  at  him,  shading  her  face  from  the  fire- 
light, and  noticed  that  he  had  turned  a  ghastly  pale 
and  was  breathing  hard  and  fast. 

"Don't  stand  there  in  that  Adelphi  attitude,  but  tell 
me  the  truth,"  she  said  coldly.  "  It's  too  late  now  for 
it  to  make  any  difference." 

"  The  truth  is,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  that  I  haven't 
any  income  at  all.  I  have  been  living  on  my  capital 
for  some  years  and  now  there  is  precious  little  even  of 
that  left." 

"  There  are  my  settlements  at  any  rate,"  she  returned. 
It  was  meant  for  an  assertion,  but  her  voice  sounded 
rather  like  a  trembling  interrogative. 

"  Settlements — bah  !     They  were  only  on  paper." 

"  And  do  you — mean — to — tell — me — ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  That  we  have  only  your  income  and  a  hundred  or 
so  between  us  and  starvation  ?  Precisely." 

"  Well,  but  I  haven't  any  income  either,"  she  blurted 
out,  quite  taken  aback. 

There  was  a  long  silence  before  either  of  them  spoke 


THE  LORD  WARDEN.  247 

again.  Like  the  hard-swearing  farmer  in  the  anec- 
dote, they  thought  that  no  words  of  theirs  were  "  equal 
to  the  occasion."  Coryton  had  often  contemplated  the 
possibility  of  such  a  catastrophe,  but  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  had  never  believed  in  it  and  now  that  it  had 
come  upon  him,  it  was  as  overwhelming  as  a  bolt  from 
the  blue.  He  was  of  an  extraordinarily  sanguine  tem- 
perament and,  as  everything  had  always  gone  well 
with  him  during  his  life,  he  was  firmly  convinced  that 
it  always  would.  Failure  is  never  so  intolerable  as 
when  success  has  become  habit.  With  Coryton  a  be- 
lief in  his  good  star  was  almost  a  second  nature  and 
the  shock  of  his  first  failure  seemed  utterly  to  unnerve 
him.  It  was  as  if  somebody  had  suddenly  dealt  him  a 
blow  full  in  the  face  and  he  had  no  means  of  returning 
it.  He  stood  beside  a  stiff  velvet  chair,  pale  and 
drawn,  his  hands  twitching  nervously.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  slap  fortune  back  again,  so  he  could  only  turn 
his  resentment  against  his  wife. 

She  was,  however,  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  It 
was  in  a  very  low  voice,  rather  sad  than  reproachful, 
that  she  aisked, 

"What  could  have  made  you  do  it?  You  might 
have  known  I  hadn't  much  money  and  you  never  pre- 
tended you  loved  me." 

He  had  drawn  aside  the  curtain  and  was  looking  out 
into  the  dismal  road,  badly  lighted  and  now  almost  de- 
serted, biting  his  lips  and  trying  not  to  think.  He 
heard  what  she  said,  but  gave  no  sign  that  he  had 
done  so. 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  so  clever,"  she  went  on, 
her  irritation  increasing  with  his  show  of  indifference, 
"  that  you  were  going  to  be  such  a  success.  But  it 
turns  out  you  are  no  better  than  a  fool.  Fool !  Fool ! 
Fool !  "  she  repeated,  raising  her  voice  angrily. 

Pie  turned  half  round  and  cast  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  her. 

"I  might  say  the  same  to  you,"  he  answered  with  a 
sneer. 

"  I  never  deceived  you  about  it,"  she  retorted  hotly. 
"You  could  have  found  out  exactly  how  much  I  had 


248  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

got,  for  the  asking.  But  you  deceived  me,  you  deceived 
my  uncle,  you  even  deceived  the  solicitor." 

"That  at  least  was  clever,"  he  said  sarcastically, 
turning  his  back  and  looking  out  of  the  window  again. 

"  Clever  !  "  she  almost  shouted.  "  If  that's  being 
clever,  give  me  a  born  idiot.  Anybody  can  take  people 
in,  if  he  chooses  to  tell  lies.  And  you  weren't  content 
with  telling  lies, — you  stooped  to  draw  up  sham  settle- 
ments not  worth  the  paper  they  were  written  on.  I 
call  it  fraud.  It  was  obtaining  something  by  false 
pretences.  I  believe  you  could  be  locked  up  for  it,  just 
as  much  as  if  you'd  cheated  people  with  a  sham  check. 
Clever  indeed !  What  could  have  been  your  object  in 
behaving  like  such  a  silly  fool  ?  You've  succeeded  in 
ruining  your  own  prospects  as  well  as  mine.  What 
could  have  possessed  you  ?  " 

She  was  working  herself  up  into  a  passion  as  she 
went  on  and  the  last  sentence  was  jerked  out  with  an 
emphasis  that  was  almost  fury. 

Coryton  watched  her,  as  one  might  watch  a  drama, 
and  there  was  a  touch  of  admiration  in  his  gaze.  She 
looked  very  fine  in  her  rage.  She  had  risen  as  she 
spoke  and  was  facing  him,  erect  and  defiant. 

"  What  possessed  me  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  I  suppose  it 
was  the  idea  that  you  had  cleverness  and  money 
enough  for  both  of  us." 

"  Money  !  "  she  cried,  with  all  that  contempt  for  the 
precious  metals,  which  only  those,  who  have  never  had 
the  handling  of  them,  know  how  to  express.  "  So  that 
was  your  object  in  marrying  me !  Well  then,  all  I 
have  to  say  is  that  you've  made  a  great  mistake." 

After  a  pause  she  added,  "A  fatal  mistake  for 
both  of  us.  You  don't  seem  to  think  anything  of 
the  opportunities  I  have  lost  through  my  folly  in 
trusting  you.  I  might  have  married  a  dozen  men 
just  as  clever  and  far  more  honorable  than  you.  A 
nice  position  you  have  brought  me  to — tied  for  life  to 
a  creature  I  hate  and  despise,  and  with  scarcely  a 
penny  to  bless  myself.  The  only  course  I  can  see  open 
to  me  is  to  apply  for  a  divorce  and  go  and  live  abroad." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  the  judges  would  scarcely  satisfy 
you  in  that  way  yet,"  he  replied  with  an  acid  smile. 


THE  LOUD   WARDEN.  249 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  leave  you  and  you  can  apply  for 
it  or  not  as  you  think  fit.  I  am  not  going  to  live  any 
more  with  a  scoundrelly,  broken-down  adventurer,  who 
hasn't  even  the  wit  to  cheat  cleverly /" 

"  It's  no  use  losing  your  temper,"  returned  Cory  ton 
with  an  imperfect  effort  to  appear  calm.  "Everything 
you  say  applies  equally,  indeed  doubly,  to  you.  A  man 
has  no  means  of  finding  out  what  income  a  girl  lias  be- 
fore he  marries  her.  It  would  be  considered  indelicate 
if  he  even  hinted  that  he  wanted  to  know.  A  girl,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  generally  safe-guarded  by  relations 
and  lawyers  and  people,  and  it  is  her  fault — or,  at  any 
rate,  theirs — if  she  doesn't  get  all  she  needs  settled  on 
her." 

"  It  was  precisely  over  the  settlements  that  you 
cheated  us." 

"  Yes  ;  but  do  you  suppose  for  an  instant  that  a  par- 
cel of  crafty,  worldly  old  lawyers  would  have  let  you 
be  cheated,  if  they  hadn't  had  orders  to  get  you  off  at 
any  cost  ?  If  there  has  been  any  sharp  practice  in  this 
matter,  I  certainly  think  I  have  been  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning." 

Violet  made  an  impatient  gesture,  as  if  about  to 
speak. 

"  It  is  no  use  indulging  in  heroics,"  he  said  in  delib- 
erate tones ;  "  we  have  got  to  think  out  what  we'll  do. 
I  admit  it  is  serious  enough,  but  we  shall  gain  nothing 
by  acting  rashly  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  I  will 
go  downstairs  and  think  the  situation  over.  Perhaps 
you  may  be  in  a  calmer  state  of  mind  to-morrow 
morning." 

He  advanced  to  kiss  her,  having  now  quite  recovered 
his  cold,  imperturbable  manner,  but  she  waved  him 
back  imperially. 

"  Don't  touch  me  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  don't  dare  to  touch 
me,  you  miserable  idiot.  Out  of  my  sight,  and  may  I 
never  set  eyes  on  you  again." 

Coryton  knitted  his  brows  and  was  on  the  point  of 
making  an  angry  retort,  but  he  abruptly  changed  his 
mind,  and,  taking  up  his  hat  and  stick,  left  the  room 
without  a  word.  As  he  passed  out  of  the  hotel  he  said 
to  the  porter  in  cold,  matter-of-fact  tones : 


250  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

"  Mrs.  Cory  ton  is  unwell.  You  will  give  orders  that 
a  bedroom  may  be  got  ready  for  me  on  the  same  floor 
as  hers." 

"  Lor',"  exclaimed  the  porter  confidentially  to  the 
barmaid  when  Cory  ton  had  gone  out,  "that  only  shows 
yer  'ow  deceptive  appearances  is.  I  could  'ave  sworn 
they  was  a  nooly-married  couple,  and  ye  know  I  have 
'ad  some  experience  of  married  couples  in  moy  toime." 

"  I  never  thought  as  they  was,"  returned  the  bar- 
maid with  a  toss  of  the  head  over  her  superior  astute- 
ness. "  Their  things  was  noo  an'  all  that,  but  there 
was  none  of  the  billin'  and  cooiu'  ye  sees  in  them  'oney- 
mooners.  Prob'bly  they  ain't  used  ter  travellin'  an' 
'ad  ter  git  a  noo  rig  out." 

"  Billin'  an'  cooin'  don't  prove  nothing,"  said  the 
porter,  indignant  at  the  doubts  cast  upon  his  expe- 
rience. "  Why,  Lor'  bless  yer,  'arf  of  them  toffs  just 
marry  for  what  they  can  git,  an'  there  ain't  no  more 
love  about  their  marriages  than  there  is  rabbit  in 
one  of  our  rabbit  poys.  'Twon't  be  so  when  you 
and  Oi  gits  spliced,  will  it,  Mariar  ?  "  he  added  with  a 
leer. 

"  Oh !  go  on  wi'  yer,  Mr.  Briggs ;  I  ain't  so  much  as 
promised  as  we  ever  shall,"  she  replied  with  one  of 
those  grotesque  attempts  at  coquetry  in  which  the 
British  middle  and  lower  classes  always  fail  so  signally. 

Meanwhile  Coryton  was  making  his  way  to  the  pier 
in  a  very  gloomy  frame  of  mind.  It  was  a  bad  busi- 
ness certainly,  but  he  was  of  a  sanguine  temperament 
and  nothing  ever  affected  him  seriously  for  long. 

If  they  had  not  money,  they  had  brains,  which  was 
much  better,  he  tried  to  argue  to  himself.  But  the 
consolation  to  be  found  in  that  reflection  was  distinctly 
forced  and  he  found  it  more  difficult  to  take  a  hopeful 
view  than  he  had  ever  done  before.  He  still  believed 
in  his  destiny,  of  course,  and  he  still  believed  in  his 
wife's,  but  he  foresaw  months  and  even  years  of  strug- 
gles and  was  not  by  any  means  sure  that  either  would 
be  able  to  stand  them.  His  was  not  a  demonstrative 
nature,  but  his  regard  for  Violet  was  none  the  less 
sincere.  They  had  always  been  good  friends,  he  re- 
flected, and  there  was  no  reason  why  they  should  not 


THE  LORD  WARDEN.  251 

continue  to  be  so.  If  only  they  had  found  out  the 
true  state  of  each  other's  affairs  four-and-twenty  hours 
before,  they  might  each  have  carved  out  a  great  career 
and  enjoyed  many  opportunities  of  doing  good  turns 
to  each  other. 

Now  they  were  a  mutual  handicap,  chronic  obstacles 
in  the  path  of  success.  Their  position  was  a  standing 
refutation  of  the  silly  proverb  about  union  being 
strength.  If  only  the  fatal  step  of  that  afternoon 
could  be  retraced  now,  before  the  girl  was  compromised. 
A  foolish  scheme  passed  through  his  head  for  a  col- 
lusive divorce  or  nullity  suit,  but  he  speedily  dismissed 
the  idea,  not  so  much  for  its  difficulty  as  for  the  scandal 
it  would  create.  The  slightest  scandal  in  a  public 
man's  private  life  is  nowadays  made  much  more  of 
than  any  public  enormity  he  may  have  been  guilty  of, 
however  outrageous. 

There  was  no  getting  over  hard  facts.  Too  much 
astuteness  had  brought  him  to  grief.  He  saw  the  folly 
of  it  all  now  that  it  was  too  late,  and  he  was  not  long 
in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  his  only  course  was 
to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  But  that  did  not  make 
the  bad  job  any  more  acceptable.  The  blow  to  his  vanity 
was  the  hardest  part  of  all  and  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  pier,  reproaching  himself  in  as  unmeasured 
terms  as  any  Violet  had  made  use  of  towards  him. 

The  charm  of  Coryton's  character  was  that  nothing 
ever  really  upset  him  for  long.  Before  he  had  been 
out  an  hour  the  worst  of  his  fit  of  the  blues  was  over 
and,  as  he  stopped  to  light  a  cigar,  the  match  revealed 
a  fairly  cheerful  face,  in  which  no  trace  of  his  worries 
remained. 

"After  all,"  he  concluded,  as  he  turned  his  steps 
back  to  the  hotel,  "  the  thing  to  be  thought  of  is  the 
future,  not  the  past.  I  daresay  our  marriage  will  not 
turn  out  any  the  less  satisfactory  for  the  queer  way  in 
which  the  honeymoon  has  begun." 

Violet  meanwhile  was  taking  the  matter  far  more 
to  heart.  Her  husband's  indifference  had  revealed  to 
her  a  fact  which  she  had  long  suspected,  that  she  was 
really  and  truly  in  love  with  him.  When  this  first 
occurred  to  her,  she  had  scouted  it  with  a  merry  laugh. 


252  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

That  she,  who  had  never  taken  anything  or  anybody 
seriously — scarcely  even  herself — should  fall  in  love, 
was  too  preposterous  a  notion. 

For  a  long  time  she  had  kept  up  the  pretence  that 
her  marriage  with  Coryton  was  to  be  merely  one  of 
convenience — the  alliance  of  two  clever  people  for  their 
mutual  advancement — and  when  she  had  detected  the 
first  symptoms  of  love-sickness,  she  was  utterly  puz- 
zled and  thought  of  sending  for  the  doctor  to  prescribe 
for  influenza.  As  the  symptoms  became  unmistakable, 
she  became  even  more  moody  and  fitful  than  young 
ladies  usually  are  daring  this  distemper.  Still  she  did 
not  give  up  the  attempt  to  deceive  herself  on  the  sub- 
ject until  after  the  marriage,  when  she  was  stung  to 
the  quick  by  the  complacent  way,  in  which  he  took  it 
for  granted  that  love  was  an  impossibility  between 
them. 

Her  heart  now  sank  within  her  and  she  felt  a 
strange,  disappointed  yearning,  which  could  leave  no- 
further  room  for  doubt.  It  was  this  aching  of  un- 
satisfied love,  far  more  than  the  revelation  of  mere 
money  trouble,  that  kept  her  tossing  and  moaning, 
in  agony  of  mind,  all  through  her  wedding  night. 
Unrequited  love  is  hard  enough  for  any  woman  to 
bear,  but  it  becomes  almost  unendurable  when  united 
with  pride  and  cleverness  and  unscrupulousness  suf- 
ficient to  remove  mountains. 

The  revelation  of  her  husband's  poverty  had 
strengthened  rather  than  diminished  Violet's  love 
for  him.  She  felt  that  even  love  in  a  cottage  would 
be  endurable  with  him ;  that  there  would  be  an  in- 
finite joy  in  denying  herself  pleasures  and  luxuries 
in  order  that  he  might  enjoy  them  in  her  stead ;  that 
their  temporary  poverty — for,  of  course,  with  such 
a  genius  as  her  husband,  poverty  could  only  be  tem- 
porary— would  aid  her  in  winning  his  love. 

But  her  heart  sank  as  she  contemplated  the  imme- 
diate future.  She  was  not  used  to  poverty  and, 
from  all  accounts,  it  seemed  to  be  unanimously  con- 
sidered a  very  disagreeable  thing.  Poverty  would 
leave  her  so  desperately  alone  in  the  world.  There 
are  none  so  desperately  alone  as  the  poor  rich.  The 


THE  LORD   WARDEN.  253 

rich  poor  are  happy:  their  wants  are  few,  luxury 
is  undreamed  of,  and  they  can  save  money  on  a  hun- 
dred a  year.  The  poor  rich,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
appearances  to  keep  up,  expensive  tastes,  which  grudge 
if  they  be  not  satisfied,  and  expensive  friends,  with 
whom  friendship  means  the  exaction  of  usefulness. 
Violet  knew  full  well  that,  if  she  and  her  husband 
could  not  manage  to  keep  up  appearances,  they  would 
speedily  be  dropped  by  all  their  fairweather  friends, 
who  now  only  saluted  what  they  believed  to  be  the 
rising  sun.  And  what  more  utter  loneliness  was 
imaginable  than  the  solitary  society  of  an  unsym- 
pathetic husband  ? 

It  was  over  some  such  thoughts  as  these  that  Violet 
fell  into  a  heavy  slumber  in  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning. 

When  she  woke  up,  Coryton  was  standing  beside 
her  with  a  tea-tray,  and  her  pleasure  at  his  thought- 
fulness  overcame  all  recollection  of  last  night's  dis- 
agreeable scene. 

"  This  is  good  of  you,  Poley,"  she  said,  with  a  grateful 
look  in  her  tear-stained  eyes. 

The  traces  of  her  weeping  and  the  anxiety  tinged 
with  affection  in  her  tones  could  not  but  affect 
Coryton,  nor  could  he  ignore  her  undeniable  pretti- 
ness  in  her  night-dress  of  lace  and  silk,  with  the  rosy 
light  through  the  blind  tinting  the  rounded  outline 
of  her  face.  He  felt  almost  remorseful  and  answered 
her  with  far  more  deference  than  was  usual  with  him. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  only  came  to  see  if  you  were  inclined 
to  come  on  to  Paris  by  the  early  boat.  We  shall  be 
as  cross  as  two  sticks  in  this  dead-alive  place.  At 
Paris  we  can  at  least  get  something  fit  to  eat  and 
see  a  naughty  play, — two  admirable  specifics  against 
the  blues." 

Violet  brightened  up  at  once. 

"  You  have  forgiven  me  for  my  crossness  last  night  ?  " 
she  asked  eagerly.  "You  know  I  didn't  mean  a 
word  I  said." 

"  Well,  don't  let  it  occur  again,"  he  returned  half- 
play  fully,  in  the  tone  of  one  lecturing  a  naughty 
child.  "  We've  got  an  up-hill  struggle  before  us — the 


254  THE  GREEN  EA  Y  TREE. 

struggle  of  keeping  up  appearances  on  nothing.  But 
that  is  the  very  reason  why  we  should  try  to  pull  to- 
gether all  the  more  harmoniously  in  harness.  We 
are  in  for  it  now  and  we  can't  afford  to  quarrel. 
If  any  people  ever  were  necessary  to  each  other, 
it's  you  and  I.  New  get  your  things  together  as 
quickly  as  you  can  and  we'll  have  a  week's  dissi- 
pation in  Paris.  By  the  end  of  it  we  shall  probably 
see  our  way  more  clearly.  There  is  no  such  aid  to 
reflection  as  a  good  bout  of  dissipation." 

"  We  shall  get  on  all  right,"  replied  Violet,  whose 
good  humor  had  now  entirely  returned,  "  if  only 
you've  a  little  patience  with  me.  To-night  we'll 
dine  at  the  Cafe  Riche,  take  a  baignoire  at  the 
Varietes  and  wind  up  with  the  Moulin  Rouge.  I 
have  always  wanted  to  be  taken  to  the  Moulin 
Rouge." 

"  All  right,"  he  assented  smiling,  "  but  you  must 
be  ready  to  start  in  half  an  hour." 

Thus  melted  the  first  and  last  cloud  that  overshad- 
owed the  blossoming  of  the  Green  Bay  Tree. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    RIFT    WITHIN    THE    l.UTE. 

Too  fair  to  worship,  too  divine  to  love. 

II.  H.  MlLLMAN. 

CANNES  is  decidedly  the  pleasantest  place  in  the 
Riviera,  for  those  who  are  admitted  to  the  vulgnr 
and  inflated  clique,  which  passes  there  for  Society 
It  is  a  close  oligarchy  which  makes  up  for  its  vulgarity 
by  an  affectation  of  exclusiveness. 

Monte  Carlo,  on  the  other  hand,  is  as  much  a  democ- 
racy as  a  great  public-school,  where  neither  rank  nor 
brains  nor  culture  are  the  passport  to  respect,  but  only 
success  at  games. 


77/7?  RIFT  \VITIIIN  THE  LUTE.  255 

Physical-force  games  are  the  school  idols,  games  of 
pure  chance  those  of  Monte  Carlo,  and  the  worshippers 
are  on  a  footing  of  such  absolute  equality  as  is  only 
found  in  the  dreams  of  crack-brained  political  philos- 
ophers. Nowhere  else  in  the  whole  round  world  will 
you  find  duchesses  of  the  blood  and  horizontals  of  the 
flesh,  illustrious  statesmen  and  bibulous  mummers, 
cut- throats  from  Calabria  and  cut-purses  from  Jerusa- 
lem-atte-Bowe,  Alsatia  and  Arcadia,  monarchs,  journal- 
ists, money-lenders,  the  famous  and  the  infamous,  all 
sitting  amicably  round  the  same  table,  hobnobbing, 
exchanging  amenities,  offering  up  the  same  incense  to 
the  same  false  god. 

Men  tone  is  devoted  to  a  gloomy  piety  and  the  adora- 
tion of  ill-health.  There  the  residents  are  looked  up 
to  according  to  the  acuteness  of  their  maladies,  those 
who  are  not  consumptive  do  their  best  to  simulate  the 
symptoms,  and  those  unfortunates,  who  find  it  im- 
possible to  conceal  their  robustness,  are  looked  upon 
as  outsiders  and  made  to  feel  themselves  outcasts. 

Bordighera  worships  the  Church  and  Stage. 

Beaulieu  and  Nice  are  respectively  English  and 
French  suburbs  of  Monte  Carlo. 

And  thus  I  have  summed  -up  the  whole  of  the 
Riviera. 

Cannes,  the  close  oligarchy,  looks  down  upon  it  all 
(democracy,  aegrocracy — to  coin  a  bastard  word — and 
religion-and- water),  with  thin  contempt.  The  full 
vials  of  this  are  poured  upon  those  strangers  within  its 
gates  who  are  in  it,  but  not  of  it.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
frid Tyrconnel  were  beginning  to  find  themselves  in 
this  position. 

When  they  first  arrived,  still  honeymooning,  they 
were  acclaimed  with  open  arms  by  the  Pigeon's 
innumerable  friends,  who  were  most  qf  them,  more 
or  less,  members  of  the  various  sets  that  combine  to 
form  the  governing  class  at  Cannes  during  the 
winter.  But  his  wife  was  unable  to  adapt  herself 
to  the  tone  of  the  place.  Her  strict  views  about 
right  and  wTrong,  descending  to  irritating  details ;  her 
intolerance  of  the  scarcely  veiled  humbug  which  goes 
to  make  up  the  conventions  of  society ;  her  rooted 


256  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

antipathy  to  pleasure  for  pleasure's  sake,  to  the  whole 
spirit  of  hedonism,  which  is  the  keystone  of  life  at 
Cannes,  put  her  out  of  harmony  with  her  surroundings 
and  brought  about  incessant  friction. 

That  peculiar  hybrid,  the  Cannes  young  man,  an  in- 
vertebrate individual  who  poses  as  a  person  of  light 
and  leading  in  this  second-rate  colony  and  proses 
about  his  prowess  at  the  golf-links  or  his  luck  at 
Monte  Carlo,  said  that  young  Mrs.  Tyrconnel  gave 
herself  airs.  Meaning  that  she  snubbed  him,  which 
she  did,  unmercifully.  The  women  took  much  the 
same  tone. 

Like  all  enthusiasts,  Gwendolen  was  painfully  defi- 
cient in  tact.  Had  she  not  started  a  tirade  against 
Monte  Carlo,  under  the  nose  of  the  Grand-Duchess, 
with  some  very  unpleasant  references  to  the  bad  ex- 
ample set  by  bigwigs  who  went  there  to  play  ?  Had 
not  Lady  Greyheather  and  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Worrie  come 
to  call  and  found  her  surrounded  by  eleven  chronic 
old  maids,  busy  making  stomachers  for  the  deep-sea 
fishermen,  and  had  she  not  introduced  every  one  of 
these  ill-favored  Parcse  and  tried  to  force  Lady  Grey- 
heather  to  take  part  in  their  humble  revels  over  "  real 
English  tea  "  cooked  in  a  tin  etna  ?  Were  there  not  a 
hundred  and  one  new  stories  afloat  about  her  eccen- 
tricities and  outrageous  assurance?  Was  she  not  the 
chief  subject  of  conversation  whenever  the  Vicomtesse 
Lepeigne  had  exhausted  her  usual  stock  of  gossip  with 
Madame  Mufle  at  the  Reunion  and  when  Miss  Lyke- 
Spitelle  waxed  especially  confidential  with  Mrs.  Bach- 
byte  ?  A  good  deal  of  this  murmuring  reached  Gwen- 
dolen's ears,  but  she  was  of  most  Puritan  obstinacy  in 
her  ethics  and  what  she  did  was  done  almost  as  much 
from  a  distorted  sense  of  humor  as  for  conscience's 
sake. 

The  wedding  had  been  boisterously  quiet.  That  is 
to  say,  Gwendolen  had  insisted  on  its  being  absolutely 
quiet,  and  her  aunt,  while  grudgingly  acquiescing,  had 
secretly  done  her  utmost  to  make  it  as  rampageous  as 
possible.  Gwendolen  had  "views"  about  marriage. 
God  forbid  that  she  should  consider  it  a  sacrament,  for 
she  hated  ritualism  almost  as  much  as  she  hated  the 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  TUE  LUTE.  257 

Pope  and  the  Devil, — two  very  real  enemies  in  her 
psalm  of  life.  But  she  claimed  that  it  was  a  very 
sacred,  holy  thing,  almost  as  sacred  in  its  way  as  the 
Lord's  Supper,  wherein  she  took  part  every  Sunday 
morning  in  her  life.  She  did  not  invite  herds  of 
friends  and  acquaintances  to  watch  her  partake  of  that 
holy  feast.  Why  then  should  they  come  to  gape  upon 
her  on  this  other  sacred  occasion,  when  most  of  all 
a  modest  maiden  would  desire  to  be  alone  with  her 
nearest  and  dearest  ?  Her  beloved  old  father  to  give 
her  away  and  Wilfrid,  her  chosen  one,  to  receive  her ; 
Aunt  Maria  and  the  servants  as  witnesses  ;  no  brides- 
maids, for,  like  most  old  heads  .on  young  shoulders, 
Gwendolen  had  few  friends  of  her  own  age;  and  the 
solemn  simple  service  in  the  old  church  of  Grantches- 
ter  which  she  had  known  and  loved  so  well  from  ear- 
liest infancy.  That  was  her  idea  of  a  happy  marriage, 
— a  fit  prelude  to  the  happy  life,  of  which,  in  her  trust- 
ful innocence,  she  felt  assured,  so  long  as  she  did  her 
duty. 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  had  had  short  patience  when 
she  heard  these  views  enunciated.  She  had  had 
visions  of  herself,  clad  in  scarlet  sammet,  mystic, 
wonderful,  flouncing  up  the  aisle  of  St.  George's, 
Hanover  Square,  and  exchanging  familiar  greetings 
with  marquesses  and  right  honorables  in  the  chan- 
cel, while  Plantagenet-lTnkels  and  the  Overdone- 
Joneses  sat  and  heard  each  other  groan  with  jealousy 
in  the  dimmest  recesses  of  the  church.  However, 
she  knew  it  was  no  use  arguing  when  once  Gwen- 
dolen had  made  up  her  mind,  so  she  agreed  to  a 
quiet  wedding,  and  even  to  a  quiet  wedding  at 
Cambridge,  which  was  the  hardest  pill  of  any,  and 
then  set  diligently  to  work  to  get  hold  of  everybody 
whose  name  would  look  well  in  the  Post. 

In  the  event,  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  was  woefully  dis- 
appointed, for,  at  Gwendolen's  request,  Tyrconnel  only 
asked  his  own  immediate  relatives  and  a  few  ultimate 
friends.  Coryton  and  his  wife  were  away  at  Monte 
Carlo;  Pimlico  was  laid  up  with  influenza;  Lady 
Giddy  wouldn't  come;  Lady  Elizabeth  and  Theodora 
were  beyond  her  ken;  Colonel  Lockhart  and  Mr. 
17 


258  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Rupert  Clifford  disappointed  her  at  the  eleventh  hour. 
So  she  had  to  be  content  with  unaristocratic  Lord 
Baltinglass  and  his  dismal  sister  in  the  way  of 
"  quality,"  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile  to  represent  the  Legisla- 
ture, the  Archdeaconess  for  the  Church,  and  Sir  Cin- 
cinnatus  Spreadeagle  for  the  Army,  Navy  and  (more 
especially)  the  Reserve  forces. 

The  Cambridge  contingent  of  course  mustered  in 
force,  but  they  were  of  small  account.  The  Vice- 
Chancellor  officiated,  assisted  by  Funnie-Ffoulkes  and 
Professor  Done-Brown  of  the  woeful  countenance. 
Belinda  and  Araminta  donned  new  gowns  for  the  occa- 
sion and  twittered  like  a  pair  of  canaries.  Lady  Catch- 
bois  brought  out  her  old  brocade  and  Mrs.  Flummery- 
North  appeared  in  a  wondrous  violet  bonnet. 
Spofforth  did  full  justice  to  the  Professor's  champagne. 

The  honeymoon — like  many  honeymoons — had  been 
a  period  of  transition  and  disillusioning.  Before  three 
weeks  were  up,  Gwendolen  had  realized  that  her  hus- 
band was  ineradicably  wedded  to  the  world  and  that 
not  even  her  gentle  influence  would  long  be  able  to 
restrain  him  from  returning  to  his  old  love  for  excite- 
ment. Tyrconnel  for  his  part  had  discovered  that 
even  pure,  flawless  goodness  palls  after  a  time  and  that 
angelic  beauty  is  only  aggravating,  when  it  is  accom- 
panied by  copy-book  views  of  life. 

The  first  time  he  was  left  alone  for  a  couple  of  hours 
since  his  wedding— it  was  in  Paris :  she  had  gone  to 
her  dressmaker's  and  he  to  the  Hammam — he  had  a 
good  hard  think  about  things  in  general  and  thought 
some  very  hard  things  about  Gwendolen  and  his  mar- 
riage in  particular.  Perhaps  it  was  the  luxurious 
atmosphere  of  the  bath  or  the  epicurean  atmosphere  of 
this  Paris,  which  he  knew  and  had  enjoyed  so  well  but 
was  now  no  longer  allowed  to  enjoy,  that  made  him 
take  French  views  of  marriage  and  incompatibility  of 
temper. 

"  She's  too  good  for  me,  'pon  my  word  she  is,"  he 
mused  bitterly,  as  he  watched  the  smoke  of  his  cigar- 
ette curl  up  above  his  couch.  "I  really  begin  to 
sympathize  with  the  Athenians,  who  got  so  tired  of 
hearing  Aristides  called  'the  Just,'  that  they  drove 


77/7?  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE.  259 

him  out  of  their  city.  I  thought  I  was  marrying  a 
woman,  but  I  find  I  have  married  an  angel,  and  an 
angel  is  rather  too  much  of  a  handful  for  a  humble 
mortal  like  myself." 

It  had  not  come  to  any  open  quarrel  yet,  but  Wilfrid 
had  several  times  turned  away  impatiently,  when 
Gwendolen  pronounced  her  decision  in  her  downright, 
uncompromising  way,  upon  some  minor  point  on  which 
he  had  set  his  heart  for  the  moment.  At  Paris  she 
would  not  lunch  at  Voisin's  nor  dine  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais,  because  they  were  "  too  extravagant ; "  she 
would  not  go  to  the  theatres,  because  they  did  not 
square  with  her  notions  of  propriety ;  and  as  to  going 
to  hear  Yvette  Guilbert,  she  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  witnessing  Miss  Gussie  Gutter's  "  turn  "  in 
a  palace  of  varieties  of  our  own  Leicester  Square. 

Now,  as  Tyrconnel  ruefully  asked  himself  in  the 
cooling-room  of  the  Turkish  bath,  if  you  don't  eat 
good  food  and  you  don't  see  naughty  plays  and  you 
don't  hear  Yvette  Guilbert,  where's  the  use  of  staying 
in  Paris  at  all  ?  "  When  he  thought  over  it  less  im- 
patiently afterwards,  he  admitted  to  himself  that  he 
could  not  picture  Gwen  sitting  out  "  Le  Coquin  de 
Printemps  "  at  the  Nouveautes  or  going  into  boisterous 
hilarity  over  "  Josephine,  elle  est  malade  "  or  "  E amour 
mouille."  So  after  a  few  days,  during  which  he  vainly 
tried  to  interest  himself  in  the  pictures  at  the  Louvre 
and  got  snubbed  for  suggesting  a  visit  to  the  Morgue ; 
drove  in  a  one-horse  shay  in  the  Bois ;  looked  into  the 
shop- windows  at  the  Palais-Royal ;  made  pilgrimages 
to  the  Sainte-Chapelle  and  the  Eiffel  tower ;  and  dined 
at  Bouillon  Duval ;  he  became  anxious  to  move  on  and 
said  so  to  Gwendolen. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  her  and  she  was  inclined 
to  remonstrate. 

"  Why  !  "  she  said,  "  you  stipulated  for  at  least  three 
weeks  in  Paris,  which  you  said  was  the  most  delightful 
place  on  earth.  Now  you  want  to  hurry  me  off,  just 
as  I  am  beginning  to  learn  something  about  the  pictures 
too." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  "  the  pictures  can  wait 
till  we  return  and  ail  our  friends  are  on  the  Riviera," 


260  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Oh !  Wilfrid,"  she  said  in  aggrieved  tones,  "  are 
you  so  tired  of  me  already  that  you  want  to  get  back 
to  your  friends  ?  Besides  we  are  not  quite  without 
friends.  Mr.  Rupert  Clifford  has  asked  us  to  go  over 
to  Saint  Germain  on  Thursday,  and  Aunt  Maria  and 
your  Aunt  Tyrconnel  are  to  be  here  next  week." 

"  That  settles  it.  We  absolutely  must  leave  this 
week." 

"  But  I  specially  wanted  to  wait  for  your  Aunt  Kezia. 
She  promised  to  take  me  to  the  Gospel  Temperance 
Mission,  which  her  friend,  Miss  Mitten,  is  establishing 
in  the  Quartier  Latin.  You  scamp,"  she  added  play- 
fully, "  I  don't  believe  you  want  to  see  our  good  aunts 
a  bit !  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  he  replied  with  the  very  obvious 
compliment,  to  which  she  had  been  leading  up  ;  "  at 
least  not  now.  We  have  not  been  married  so  long  that 
we  want  intruders  yet.  I  am  sure  Miss  Mitten  will  be 
glad  to  show  you  her  mission-hall  any  day.  Nothing 
shall  induce  me  to  stay  after  this  week.  The  place  is 
too  outrageously  dull." 

"  Dull !  "  Gwendolen  gasped.  She  looked  at  him 
with  quivering  lips  for  some  moments,  as  if  she  had 
received  a  blow  in  the  face. 

Tyrconnel  was  penitent  at  once. 

"  My  darling !  "  he  exclaimed  eagerly ;  "  you  know  I 
didn't  mean  it  like  that.  I  could  never  be  really  dull 
anywhere  with  you.  But  we  may  as  well  be  at  a  lively 
place  as  a  dull  one  and  this  is  enough  to  give  any  one 
the  blues." 

"  What !  Paris  ?  But  you  were  so  enthusiastic 
about  it  before  we  came." 

"Yes,  but  that  was  a  different  Paris.  Don't  mis- 
understand me.  I  am  quite  willing  not  to  go  to  theatres 
and  restaurants,  if  you  think  them  wrong,  but  you 
mustn't  expect  me  to  like  plum-cake  so  much,  when  all 
the  plums  are  taken  out.  .  .  .  Dear,  dear  me  !  What 
is  the  matter  ?  Don't  look  at  me  with  that  pained, 
drawn  expression,  as  if  I  had  uttered  some  blasphemy. 
I  only  live  for  you  now  and  we  shall  always  be  quite 
happy  so  long  as  we  love  each  other,  as  I  pray  we 
always  shall." 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE.  261 

"  You  are  very  dear  to  me,"  she  said  softly,  taking 
his  face  between  her  hands  and  chastely  kissing  his 
forehead,  "  but  I  sometimes  wish  you  were  different 
in  character.  The  old  Adam  dies  very  hard  in  you 
yet." 

"It  will  be  all  right  some  day,  my  good  angel. 
Meanwhile  I  would  not  have  you  differ  one  iota  from 
what  God  has  made  you.  In  my  eyes  you  are  perfect 
as  you  are." 

"  Hush  !  Wilfrid  dear,"  she  said,  looking  into  his  eyes 
with  an  air  of  infinite  tenderness,  and  speaking  with 
more  emotion  than  she  often  displayed,  "  there  is  none 
perfect  save  One."  And  she  pointed  upward. 

When  his  feelings  were  deeply  stirred,  Tyrconnel 
felt  this  kind  of  ecstatic  worship  for  his  wife,  but  his 
moods  soon  passed  and,  as  the  weeks  slipped  by, 
they  became  rarer,  while  the  contrary  moods,  when 
he  repined  at  the  weariness  of  his  present  life,  became 
more  frequent.  He  was  proud  to  be  good  and  true, 
and  he  vowed  to  himself  fifty  times  a  day  that  nothing 
should  make  him  swerve  one  hair's  breadth  from  the 
narrow  path.  But  the  mental  struggle  and  the  con- 
stant murmuring,  which  found  no  outlet,  as  he  rarely 
complained  to  Gwendolen  and  was  too  loyal  to  do  so 
to  any  one  else, — these  were  telling  on  his  health  and 
temper. 

While  never  particularly  robust,  he  had  not  needed 
coddling  or  been  considered  delicate  as  a  boy  and  had 
constantly  led  a  healthy  outdoor  life.  When  he  ap- 
peared at  Cannes,  every  one  noticed  that  he  stooped 
slightly  and  was  pale  and  poorly  to  look  at,  and,  when 
his  old  friends  began  to  rally  him  upon  it  and  tell  him, 
as  Pimlico  brutally  did  no  one  occasion  at  the  Beau- 
site,  that  evidently  married  life  didn't  agree  with  him, 
he  was  not  slow  in  showing  that  he  had  replaced  his 
lost  good  health  by  a  newly-found  bad  temper,  which 
they  were  quite  unprepared  for. 

"  I  should  advise  raw  beefsteaks  every  morning  and 
a  couple  of  dozen  oysters  the  last  thing  at  night," 
said  Williams,  putting  on  a  consulting-room  expres- 
sion. 

"  Only  not  Mediterranean  oysters,"  put  in  Wilmot, 


262  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

who  of  course  was  not  far  off,  "  you  must  get  a  barrel 
of  Marennes  from  a  man  in  the  rue  Sain t-H<  more.  I'll 
give  you  his  address.  Mediterranean  oysters  give  you 
typhoid." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    WANING    HONEYMOON. 

The  reason  why  so  few  marriages  are  happy  is  because  young 
ladies  spend  their  time  in  making  nets,  not  in  making  cages. — 
DEAN  SWIFT. 

CANNES  is  an  inconvenient  place  for  those  who  want 
to  play  at  Monte  Carlo.  It  is  a  long  day's  excursion, 
involving  a  barbarously  early  breakfast  and  a  return 
in  the  small  hours  of  the  next  morning,  if  you  mean  to 
play  seriously.  Most  of  the  fast  people  at  Cannes 
resign  themselves  to  this  and  either  make  rare  ex- 
peditions, whenever  the  gambling  fever  comes  over 
them,  or  devote  a  few  days  to  it  once  or  twice  dur- 
ing the  winter.  For  the  rest,  baccarat  at  the  Cercle 
Nautique  and  poker-parties  in  the  hotels  and  villas 
generally  suffice,  and  you  hear  disdainful  remarks 
about  the  "  dreadful  rabble  "  at  the  tables  and  about 
the  discomforts  of  the  hotels  at  Monte  Carlo.  Most  of 
our  friends,  however,  flitted  to  and  fro  between  the 
two  places,  corning  to  Cannes  for  their  society  and 
returning  to  Monte  Carlo  for  their  dissipation. 

A  great  yearning  had  come  over  Tyrconnel  for  dis- 
sipation, lie  had  now  been  "  cribbed,  cabined  and  con- 
fined "  within  the  strait-waistcoat  of  virtue  for  quite  a 
long  time  and  was  heartily  sick  of  it.  Getting  back 
among  his  old  companions  in  revelry  awoke  all  the 
old  longings  in  him.  Gwendolen  had  sufficient! y 
disciplined  him  to  keep  the  passionate  side  of  his 
nature  well  under  control,  but  the  irresistible  crav- 
ing for  excitement,  which  had  always  been  one  of 
his  most  ingrained  characteristics,  was  now  rapidly 


THE  WANING  HONEYMOON.  263 

getting  the  better  of  him.  Every  day  he  became 
more  morose  and  unbearable.  Any  allusion  to  Monte 
Carlo  made  him  irritable  and  yet  he  could  not  be  five 
minutes  with  one  of  his  old  boon  companions  without 
leading  the  conversation  round  to  it,  and  his  eyes 
would  glisten  as  Wilmot  narrated  extraordinary  runs 
at  trente-et-quarante,  or  Williams  enlarged  upon  the 
fabulous  gains  made  by  a  syndicate  of  young  men  who 
had  come  out  with  a  capital  of  £100  to  play  the  Labou- 
chere  system. 

Coryton  tried  to  persuade  Tyrconnel  to  come  over 
for  the  day,  but  he  said  Gwendolen  would  not  hear  of 
it  and  hastily  added,  on  detecting  a  smile  on  his  friend's 
Mephistophelian  countenance,  that  besides  he  had  no 
wish  to  do  so.  Meanwhile  his  ricketty  appearance  was 
getting  more  and  more  confirmed,  and  he  would  give 
vent  to  outbursts  of  temper  at  the  least  provoca- 
tion, outbursts  which  often  terminated  in  an  ugly 
cough. 

Last  of  all  Gwendolen  noticed  it. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well,  dear  Wilfrid,"  she  said 
one  morning,  with  a  slight  quiver  of  anxiety  in  her 
voice.  "I  wonder  whether  this  place  suits  you." 

They  were  standing  on  their  balcony  after  breakfast. 
She  was  feasting  her  eyes  on  the  intense  joyousness  of 
nature,  the  deep,  deep  blue  of  sea  and  sky,  the  sparkle 
of  the  sunshine  in  the  fountain  beneath  their  windows 
and  the  soothing  solemnity  of  the  stately  palms  hard 
by.  The  Riviera  reminded  her  more  and  more  each 
day  of  the  Bible  lands  as  it  has  done  many  another  who 
has  searched  the  Scriptures.  Her  husband's  illness 
had  been  dawning  upon  her  for  some  time,  but  it  never 
formed  itself  as  a  reality  to  her  mind  before  now,  and 
even  now  it  did  not  do  so  as  a  serious  one.  She  was 
looking  out  towards  the  Esterels  and  deducing  from 
the  aspect  of  the  wooded  hills  in  the  foreground  the 
truth  of  the  comparison  of  the  man  in  the  gospel  who 
began  by  seeing  "  men  as  trees  walking,"  when  his 
sight  was  restored  to  him.  Those  trees  resembled  men 
in  the  dim  distance.  Presently  she  relapsed  into  a 
former  train  of  thought  and  looked  at  the  young  man 
again  and  reproached  herself — without  any  thought  of 


264  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

bitterness — that  she  had  thought  so  much  of  the  wel- 
fare of  his  soul,  so  little  of  that  of  his  body. 

He  too  was  straining  his  eyes  out  over  the  horizon, 
but  it  was  towards  Golfe-Juan,  where  the  Corsican 
landed,  and  Antibes,  whose  obtruding  promontory 
angered  him,  for,  like  Gwen,  it  divided  him  from  the 
gay  principality,  whither  his  mental  vision  now  strug- 
gled to  force  the  physical.  At  last  he  said  with  a  hoarse 
voice  and  an  abrupt  manner  that  was  meant  to  be  de- 
termined, 

"  I  think  I  shall  run  over  to  Monte  Carlo  for  the  day. 
Let  me  see,"  he  went  on  pulling  out  his  watch,  "  if  I 
put  on  my  boots  now,  I  shall  just  have  time  to  catch 
the  9.45  train.  I  suppose  it's  no  use  asking  you  to 
come?  Well,  I  daresay  you  won't  be  sorry  to  get  rid 
of  me  for  one  day  after  such  a  dose  of  me  all  these 
weeks!  " 

The  last  sentence  was  said  with  an  attempt  at  playful- 
ness, which  proved  a  signal  failure. 

Gwendolen  heard  him  out  with  an  ominous  silence, 
biting  her  lip  and  looking  at  him  with  large  glistening 
eyes  like  those  of  a  sorrowing  guardian-angel.  A  tor- 
rent of  expostulation  was  twice  on  the  point  of  over- 
flowing from  her  lips,  but  she  checked  it  with  an  effort 
and  then,  with  forced  calmness,  she  said  slowly, 

"  You  could  not  go  to-day,  Wilfrid.  We  have  prom- 
ised Madame  Lepeigne  to  go  for  a  picnic  to  the 
island." 

"  Bother !  "  he  conceded  ungraciously.  Then  he 
added  with  a  very  obstinate  look  in  his  face,  "  well,  I 
shall  go  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow,"  echoed  his  wife  with  a  half  malicious 
feeling  of  triumph  at  the  fresh  unanswerable  obstacle, 
"to-morrow  will  be  Sunday." 

Tyrconnel  made  a  gesture  of  annoyance  and  said : 

"  Well,  Monday  then,"  as  he  turned  abruptly  back 
into  the  sitting-room,  striking  his  head  sharply  against 
the  window  as  he  did  so. 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  Monte  Carlo  until 
Sunday  night,  when  Gwendolen  broached  the  subject 
again  after  dinner.  The  moment  was  not  well  chosen, 
for  Tyrconnel  had  been  worried  into  two  attendances  at 


THE  WANING  HONEYMOON.  2t)5 

church,  with  the  result  that  he  was  now  irritable  and 
rebellious.  The  least  thing  seemed  to  tire  him  now. 
Moreover,  the  sermon  that  morning-,  by  the  diminutive 
Bishop  of  Bedlam,  had  been  devoted  to  denunciations 
of  the  "  House  of  Rimmon,"  and  the  eternal  fallacies 
about  suicides,  the  grotesque  assertion  that  the  con- 
certs and  the  gardens  at  Monte  Carlo  are  the  "  price  of 
blood,"  with  all  the  other  extravagances  of  a  narrow 
and  ill-balanced  mind  had  outraged,  his  sense  of  fair- 
ness. 

They  were  in  their  private  sitting-room.  It  was  a 
chilly  evening  and  a  fire  had  been  lighted,  but  it  burned 
badly.  The  lamp  had  been  carefully  trimmed  and 
added  an  artificial  gloom  to  that  which  already  existed 
in  their  minds. 

Each  had  an  expression  of  being  profoundly  bored. 
Tyrconnel  sat  in  a  fold-up-chair  affecting  to  read 
"  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World,"  which  Gwen- 
dolen, who  had  views  about  "  Sunday-books,"  had 
forced  on  him.  He  found  it  difficult  to  keep  his 
attention  to  it  and  indeed  scarcely  cared  to  try,  for  the 
type  was  blurred  by  the  dim  light  and  the  subject  had 
not  the  faintest  interest  for  him. 

Meanwhile  Gwendolen  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fireplace  turning  over  somewhat  idly  a  large  parcel  of 
tracts,  recently  sent  her  by  Miss  Tyrconnel.  The 
waning  of  the  honeymoon  had  not  destroyed  in  her 
the  minute  interest  in  the  smallest  movements  of  her 
husband,  which  devoted  brides  sometimes  touchingly 
display.  She  kept  watching  him  with  an  expression, 
which  it  would  have  puzzled  a  stranger  to  explain. 
It  contained  solicitude  for  his  health  and  a  kind  of 
guardian-angel  tenderness,  which  suited  her  style  of 
beauty ;  but  there  was  also  a  marked  shade  of  annoy- 
ance at  his  lack  of  interest  in  her  book  and,  as  the 
yawns  succeeded  each  other  like  minute-guns,  a  frown 
began  to  form  itself  on  her  broad  calm  brow. 

"  If  you're  tired,  you'd  better  go  to  bed,"  she  said 
at  last,  with  unusual  impatience,  in  the  tone  of  a  mother 
lecturing  a  troublesome  child. 

It  was  the  fifth  long-drawn  yawn  in  five  minutes,  and 
he  had  slowly  pulled  out  his  hunter-watch,  looked  at 


2bt>  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

it  and  shut  it  up  with  an  ostentatious  click  three  times 
during  the  same  period. 

"  My  dear,  it's  only  half-past  eight.  I  really  couldn't 
go  to  bed  with  the  hens  like  that.  Not  even  to  oblige 
you,"  he  added  with  a  touch  of  mockery  in  his  voice ; 
"  I  think  I  shall  go  down  to  the  billiard-room  for  a 
cigar." 

"  I  have  got  something  to  say  to  you  first,"  she  re- 
turned, in  tones  which  only  served  to  increase  his  irrita- 
tion. 

"  Well !  "  he  asked  with  an  ostentatious  lack  of  in- 
terest. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  Monte  Carlo  to-morrow." 

She  had  tried  to  impart  a  pleading,  or  at  least  an 
interrogative  accent  to  the  sentence,  but  it  sounded  to 
Tyrconnel  more  like  a  menace.  There  was  a  sulky 
silence  of  about  two  minutes. 

"  Are  you?  "  she  added  pleadingly,  as  he  showed  no 
sign  of  making  answer. 

"  You  seem  to  have  settled  it  for  me,"  he  replied  with 
some  bitterness. 

"  That  is  good  of  you,  Wilfrid,"  she  said  more  softly, 
taking  this  for  acquiescence  and  laying  a  hand  affec- 
tionately on  his. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  without  responding  to  the  caress 
and  said  emphatically, 

"  Pray  don't  mistake  me.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  and  I  shall  go.  I  need  a  change.  My  health 
is  suffering  from  the  monotony  of  this  place.  You 
religious  people  are  so  selfish,"  he  went  on  with  rising 
anger.  "  I  don't  believe  you  care  a  snap  whether  I  am 
ill  or  well,  happy  or  miserable,  so  long  as  your  bread- 
and-butter  theories  of  life  are  observed.  Pray,  what 
do  you  know  of  the  world  outside  your  school-room 
door  and  your  Cambridge  lecture-halls  ?  Who  set 
you  up  to  be  a  ruler  and  a  judge  ?  Where  did  you 
learn " 

The  tirade  ended  in  a  fit  of  coughing.  He  rocked 
himself  to  and  fro  for  some  minutes  and  then  sank 
back  into  his  chair.  But  his  words  had  probed  her 
to  the  quick  and  she  stood  before  him  with  hands 
clenched  by  her  side  and  a  strange  light  in  her  eyes, 


THE  WANING  HONEYMOON.  2G7 

scarcely  noticing  his  cough.  When  he  had  partly 
recovered,  she  returned  to  the  charge. 

"The  world!  No,  indeed,"  she  answered  with  a 
fine  scorn.  u  I  know  little  enough  of  it  and  I  care  not 
to  know.  But  I  have  at  least  learned — even  in  the 
small  and  humble  sphere  which  you  so  despise — I 
have  learned  to  distinguish  between  good  and  evil. 
And  the  love  I  bear  you  will,  I  pray  to  God,  inspire 
me  to  protest,  so  long  as  I  have  breath,  when  I  see  you 
setting  your  face  towards  wrong-doing." 

"  I  must  be  allowed  to  judge  what  is  right  and 
wrong  for  myself,"  he  rejoined  in  a  faint  voice.  "  I 
am  willing  to  do  all  I  can  to  humor  your  whims  and 
prejudices.  I  have  denied  myself  pleasures  and  ex- 
posed myself  to  actual  discomforts  in  order  to  do  so, 
but  there  are  limits  to  such  sacrifices  and  you  must 
not  tax  my  good-nature  too  far." 

She  was  about  to  reply  when  the  discussion  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  porter  with  a  letter. 
Tyrconnel  took  it  carelessly,  examined  the  address 
with  a  slight  show  of  curiosity,  opened  the  envelope 
and  began  to  read  a  little  ill-scented,  ill-written  note, 
then  hastily  crumpled  it  up  and  thrust  it  into  his 
breast-pocket,  his  face  gradually  becoming  crimson, 
as  much  with  anger  as  with  embarrassment.  Gwen- 
dolen watched  him  with  more  astonishment  than 
alarm,  but  a  certain  qualm  of  uneasiness  could  not 
be  altogether  avoided,  and  she  stood  before  him,  as 
if  waiting  for  and  confidently  expecting  an  expla- 
nation. 

As  he  offered  none,  she  said,  taking  up  the  end  of 
his  last  speech, 

"  Would  it  be  '  taxing  your  good-nature '  too  far  to 
ask  you  whom  that  letter  is  from  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  Gwen,"  he  faltered,  suddenly  tak- 
ing a  more  conciliatory  tone.  "I  must  ask  you  to 
believe  that  it  does  not  concern  you  in  any  way." 

"  What  concerns  you  concerns  me,  Wilfrid." 

"  It  does  not  concern  my  present  life.  -  No  good 
purpose  would  be  served  by  showing  it  to  you.  I  will 
show  you  what  store  I  set  by  it,"  and  he  stooped  down 
to  the  fire,  held  the  letter  between  the  logs  until  it 


268  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

caught  the  flame,  and  then  gave  it  a  vicious  dig  with 
the  end  of  the  bellows.  The  flicker  of  the  fire  gave 
his  face,  now  very  pale  again,  a  strange  and  ghastly 
color. 

Nothing  was  said  for  some  time.  Then  he  bent 
over  and  kissed  her  forehead  without  a  trace  of  senti- 
ment. 

"  Good-night,  Gwen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  some  letters 
to  write  and  am  going  downstairs  for  a  smoke.  I 
daresay  you  will  be  asleep  before  I  turn  in." 

"  More  letters !  "  she  said,  stroking  her  forehead 
upwards  in  a  weary  way,  "  and  do  they  not  concern 
our  present  life  either  ?  You  used  to  have  no  secrets 
from  me.  I  feel  already  as  if  we  had  been  mar- 
ried years  and  years  and  years.  You  have  begun  to 
slight  me  and  the  joy  is  ebbing  from  my  life.  I  did 
not  dream  that  you  would  tire  of  me  so  soon." 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Gwen,"  he  replied  irritably,  as  he 
sauntered  out  of  the  room  with  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Gwendolen  remained  for  a  long  time  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece,  thinking.  She  looked  fixedly  at  the 
damp  logs  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Presently 
she  drew  herself  up  erect,  as  if  to  do  battle  with  these 
sad  thoughts.  She  crossed  the  room,  found  her  Bible, 
and  sat  down  on  a  stool  to  read  the  fourteenth  chapter 
of  Saint  John,  which  had  upon  her  the  effect  of  a 
cordial  on  a  fainting  man. 

There  was  a  serene  smile  of  trustful  happiness  on 
her  countenance  as  she  turned  down  the  lamp  and  made 
her  way  to  her  bedroom. 

"  Peace  I  leave  with  you,"  she  murmured,  "  my 
peace  I  give  unto  you ;  not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I 
unto  you.  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless :  I  will 
come  to  you." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  R1MMON.  269 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    HOUSE    OF    RIMMOX. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  wheels  go  wound." 

HELEN'S  BABIES. 

"  IT  is  a  quarter  to  twelve ;  I  must  look  sharp  or  I 
shall  be  late  for  business,"  exclaimed  Harold  Gaverigan, 
tossing  his  unfinished  cigarette  over  the  parapet  and 
making  an  unusual  display  of  alacrity. 

"  Nonsense,  old  chap,"  said  Coryton,  leaning  back 
languidly,  on  the  big  green  reversible  seat  which  he 
occupied  on  the  terrace.  "  You  can't  coop  yourself 
up  in  that  filthy  casino  on  a  glorious  day  like  this. 
Why  not  get  hold  of  Lady  Giddy  and  drive  over 
with  Vixie  and  me  to  Xice  for  lunch  at  the  London 
House." 

"  Oh !  do,  Mr.  Gaverigan,"  added  Mrs.  Coryton, 
looking  up  with  a  bright  smile  from  an  elaborate 
pattern  she  was  executing  on  the  gravel  with  her 
parasol.  "  That  would  be  jolly." 

Gaverigan,  ever  susceptible  to  attentions  from  the 
fair  sex,  thereupon  assumed  a  very  sorrowful  air, 
like  the  rich  young  man  in  the  parable,  for  the  casino 
was  all-engrossing  to  him. 

"  I  should  have  enjoyed  it  of  all  things,"  he  said 
regretfully,  "  but  for  one  thing,  I  always  have  lunch 
at  eleven  in  the  French  fashion  and,  for  another,  I 
rather  packed  myself  up  yesterday,  as  they  phrase  it 
here,  and  I  have  fifty-four  louis  to  recoup  to-day.  I 
am  afraid  I  must  run  along  now  or  I  shan't  get  a  seat 
at  all,  and  it  always  spells  ruin  to  try  to  play  stand- 
ing." 

"  Very  well,"  laughed  Violet  with  a  friendly  nod, 
"  we  won't  spoil  your  sport.  I  hope  you  will  win 


270  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

a  pot  of  money  to-day  and  "be  able  to  give  yourself  a 
holiday  and  drive  with  us  to-morrow.1" 

The  terrace  at  Monte  Carlo  is  a  pleasant  lounge 
at  noon  in  winter.  There  are  not  enough  people 
about  to  be  exacting  in  the  matter  of  dress;  you 
can  give  yourself  over  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  your 
surroundings.  And  such  surroundings!  Assuredly 
the  world  contains  no  other  such  favored  corner, 
where  art  and  nature  have  so  conspired  to  erect  a 
paradise. 

Coryton  and  his  wife,  experts  in  the  science  of 
extracting  all  possible  enjoyment  out  of  their  sur- 
roundings, had  been  sitting  there  for  about  half  an 
hour,  looking  the  picture  of  content,  basking  in  the 
sunshine  and  drawing  in  long  breaths  of  ozone  as 
the  faintest  of  sea-breezes  played  upon  their  brows. 
And  they  looked  no  less  prosperous  than  they  did 
contented.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  care  of  any 
sort  upon  their  smooth,  fresh  young  faces ;  they  were 
dressed  to  convey  an  impression  of  wealth — as  all  wise 
people  with  their  own  way  to  make  in  the  world 
always  must  be — but -what  is  a  still  greater  triumph  of 
astuteness,  their  clothes  were  made  to  aim  rather  at 
comfort  than  display. 

Violet's  dress  was  of  fawn-colored  cloth,  exquisitely 
fitting  and  distinguished  by  a  thin  trimming  of  choice 
sable ;  her  head  looked  very  knowing  under  a  prettily 
twisted  toque  of  violet  velvet  bordered  with  a  couple  of 
sable  tails.  Coryton  looked  spick  and  span  in  a  double- 
breasted  jacket  of  dark  gray  tweed  with  navy  blue 
trousers  and  Oxford  shoes.  The  usual  Monte-Carlo 
hat  of  soft  black  felt  was  perched  jauntily  on  the  side 
of  his  head  so  as  to  display  his  curls. 

They  were  very  little  changed  since  we  saw  them 
last  and  certainly  not  for  the  worse.  Violet  had  not 
lost  her  sprightliness,  but  had  added  to  it  some  of  the 
charms  of  maturity.  She  had  always  been  good 
friends  with  her  husband  since  they  were  boy  and  girl, 
but  it  was  only  during  the  last  few  weeks  that  she  had 
come  to  admit  to  herself  that  it  was  all  very  ridiculous, 
but  really  she  was  getting  quite  spoony  about  that 
dear  Poley.  Love  is  always  the  most  permanent  when 


THE  HOUSE  OF  RIMMON.  271 

it  follows,  instead  of  preceding  marriage,  and  Coryton, 
who  would  have  laughed  aloud  at  the  suggestion  of 
his  possibly  giving  way  to  any  such  weakness  as  love, 
was  getting  daily  happier  in  the  society  of  his  wife 
and  prouder  of  her  good  looks  and  cleverness. 

They  watched  Gaverigan  hurrying  up  the  terrace- 
steps  towards  the  casino,  and  Violet,  half  closing  her 
eyes  to  enjoy  the  brightness  of  the  coloring  around 
her,  remarked  playfully  upon  the  young  man's  unusual 
display  of  energy. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Coryton,  "  he  has  fits  of  energy  like 
that.  If  he  only  kept  them  up,  he  might  accomplish 
wonders.  You  remember  when  he  went  down  to  Shef- 
field, utterly  unknown  there,  and  started  a  candidature 
on  lines  of  his  own  ?  " 

«  No.    What  happened  ?  " 

"He  had  meetings  every  night  for  a  week  and  after 
the  first  three,  carried  votes  of  confidence  in  his  candi- 
dature. Then  he  calmly  went  away,  and  never  came 
near  them  from  that  day  to  this." 

"  It's  a  pity  he  gambles  so  much  and  so  recklessly. 
He's  certain  to  bring  himself  to  grief  one  of  these 
days." 

"  Yes,  he  should  only  gamble  in  the  way  we  do,  and 
never  back  anything  except  certainties.  I  have  no 
patience  with  people  who  persist  in  backing  uncer- 
tainties." 

"  Like  that  dear  good  Pigeon,  for  instance." 

"  Pouf !  He  plays  like  a  lunatic.  Gaverigan  at  any 
rate  has  some  method  in  his  madness.  By  the  way,  I 
wouldn't  mind  betting  my  boots  we  shall  see  Pidge 
over  here  before  long,  in  spite  of  all  his  new-laid  virtue 
and  the  terrorism  of  that  Saint  Nitouche  of  a  wife  of 
his." 

"  I  don't  want  your  boots,"  she  laughed,  "  but  I'll  bet 
you  something  nicer,  say,  a  kiss  or,  better  still,  a  new 
bonnet  from  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  that  if  he  does  come 
it'll  be  without  her.  In  fact,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it 
meant  a  breach  between  them." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  which  was  an 
unnecessary  precaution  as  there  was  no  one  within 
shouting  distance,  "there  most  certainly  will  be  a 


272  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

breach  between  them,  unless  Miss  Sarah  Popkins 
should  happen  to  come  in  for  a  fortune  in  the  course  of 
the  next  few  weeks." 

"That  dreadful  Sally  Popkins?  I  really  think  it's  a 
mistake  coming  down  to  that  kind  of  instrument." 

Coryton  looked  into  her  eyes  with  an  amused  smile. 

"  I  almost  believe,"  he  said  incredulously,  "  that  you 
— are — jealous !  " 

Violet  pouted. 

"  And  if  I  am,  I  don't  see  that  that  is — so  very — 
ridiculous." 

A  cloud  had  gathered  on  her  face  as  she  finished  the 
sentence.  The  smile  slowly  died  away  on  his  face  and 
he  looked  vexed  for  a  moment. 

"  Vixie,  you  mustn't  be  ridiculous.  Have  you  such 
a  poor  opinion  of  me  after  all  these  years  ?  Vi,  I  feel 
hurt,  I  really  do.  Could  you  so  misjudge  me  as  to 
think  I  have  not  control  over  myself  in  my  dealings 
with  such  creatures,  or  that  I  would  demean  myself  to 
touch  them  with  the  end  of  a  barge-pole  except  to  make 
them  useful  ?  Don't  you  know  that  I  am  a  being  en- 
tirely destitute  of  emotions  or  affections  of  any  sort  or 
kind — except  of  course  for  you,  my  dear  ?  "  he  added, 
with  a  ceremonious  bow. 

"I  am  glad  you  made  that  reservation,  howbeit 
reluctantly,"  she  retorted,  recovering  her  good-humor 
rapidly.  "  But  tell  me  what  the  scheme  is.  Sally  is  to 
blackmail  Pidge  by  threatening  to  tell  the  saintly 
Gwendolen.  That's  all  very  well  for  Sally,  but  where 
do  you  come  in  ?  You're  not  going  to  share  the  spoil 
with  her,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Hardly.  The  thing  isn't  yet  quite  thought  out. 
Perhaps  if  she  worries  him  judiciously,  he  may  come 
to  me  for  advice.  Or  perhaps  again  she  may  produce 
a  breach  between  him  and  Gwendolen,  as  I  was  say- 
ing just  now.  In  any  case  he  gets  back  into  my  team 
again,  and  he  was  useful,  you  must  admit." 

"  'M  yes.  Useful  in  a  way.  But  is  it  worth  soiling 
your  hands  like  that  for  such  an  object  ?  Suppose  it 
all  came  out." 

"  I  shall  take  precautions.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned 
there  will  be  nothing  to  come  out.  It  won't  need  such 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SIMMON.  273 

a  frightful  amount  of  astuteness  to  accomplish  that 
much.  I  have  had  dealings  with  these  Samaritans 
before,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  have,"  she  said  drily ;  "  and  I  wish 
you'd  stop  having  dealings  with  them." 

"I  daresay  you  do.  But,  my  good  Vixie,  beggars 
can't  choose.  You  know  how  hard  up  we  are." 

"  I  do  indeed,"  she  said  bitterly. 

"  Well ! "  was  all  he  said,  but  it  was  very  much  in 
the  tone  of  the  Q.  E.  D.  after  one  of  Euclid's  rigmaroles. 

Violet  suddenly  gave  a  merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  said,  "  I  think  we  are  the  most 
wonderful  people  in  the  world.  Here  we  are  about  on 
the  verge  of  beggary  and  we  are  as  jolly  as  sandboys, 
without  the  least  care  or  fear  of  any  sort  or  kind  to 
alloy  our  happiness  for  an  instant.  Some  people 
would  be  ordering  in  cartridges  for  their  revolver  or 
sending  round  to  the  chemist  for  chloral." 

Cory  ton  joined  in  the  laugh. 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  fine,  but  this  sort  of  situation 
would  very  soon  get  beyond  a  joke.  We  must  think 
of  something." 

"  After  all,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  we  can 
always  borrow  from  our  friends." 

"  The  worst  must  not  come  to  the  worst.  Borrow- 
ing from  friends  means  the  destruction  of  all  their  other 
spheres  of  usefulness.  I  have  always  believed  in  the 
truth  of  old  Shake-Bacon's  injunction.  '  Neither  a 
borrower  nor  a  lender  be.'  It  is  far  better  to  take  what 
you  want  by  strategy.  The  Professor's  next  instalment 
in  our  Automatic  Drainage  Scheme  comes  due  in  a 
week  or  two.  Meanwhile,  all  we  want  is  a  little  ready 
money  to  go  on  with." 

"  Poor  old  cock,"  said  Violet,  dismissing  the  Profes- 
sor, with  a  shrug.  "  Shall  we  have  another  supper- 
party  after  the  rooms  close  with  a  game  of  poker  to 
wind  up  ?  " 

"  No,  that's  risky.  People  here  play  too  well.  Be- 
sides they  want  such  a  lot  of  pressing.  As  they  can 
play  at  roulette  and  trente-et-quarante  for  eleven  hours 

a  day " 

18 


274  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  And  be  sure  of  not  being  cheated." 

"  Precisely  ray  meaning ! — they  aren't  likely  to  want 
to  come  and  play  poker  afterwards,  where  that  certitude 
is  not  so  profound." 

"  What  a  pity  Pidge  isn't  here." 

"  Yes.  It  would  almost  be  worth  while  going  ovei 
to  Cannes,  if  that  confounded  wet-blanket  woman 
weren't  there.  I  must  have  managed  things  very 
badly  to  let  her  marry  him." 

"  There  are  several  irons  in  the  fire  here  that  I  should 
not  care  to  leave.  There  are  Mr.  Shepheard's  invest- 
ments and  Mr.  Plantagenet-Unkels's  idea  of  starting  a 
paper,  not  to  mention  my  Boyard,  who  only  wants  me 
to  say  the  word  in  order  to  present  me  with  the  most 
magnificent  tiara  of  diamonds  that  can  be  purchased 
in  all  Bucharest." 

"  Come,  come,  Vixie.  It'll  soon  be  my  turn  to  be 
jealous." 

"  Your  turn  !  Don't  flatter  yourself  that  I  was  jeal- 
ous, conceited  boy.  However,  I'll  strike  a  bargain  with 
you :  my  Boyard  for  your  Sally." 

"  My  Sally !  You  scamp.  She's  only  a  means  to 

an  end.  And  by  Jove !  here  is  the  end 

Why,  Pigeon,  old  boy  ?  Who'd  have  thought  of 
seeing  you  in  this  wicked  place  ?  Is  your  wife  with 
you  ?  " 

Sure  enough  it  was  Tyrconnel,  walking  along  the 
terrace  with  an  uncertain  step,  as  if  the  place  were 
strange  to  him.  What  a  difference  between  this  hag- 
gard youth  and  the  eager,  sturdy  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel 
who  had  trod  this  terrace  twelve  short  months  before ! 
His  face  was  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  arrival 
and  his  frail,  boyish  face  looked  quite  pretty  as  he 
stood  before  them.  Both  were  struck  at  once  by  the 
change  in  him. 

"  She  is  at  Cannes.  I  am  only  over  for  the  day," 
he  said  shortly,  in  answer  to  Coryton's  question. 
Then,  turning  to  Violet,  he  seemed  to  recover  his 
good  spirits  and  began  to  rally  her  on  her  perennial 
childhood. 

"  I  wish  I  could  return  the  compliment,  Pidge,"  she 
said  with  affectionate  anxiety,  "  but  you  are  looking 


THE  HOUSE  OF  EIMMON.  275 

decidedly  dicky.  You  want  a  good  bracing  up  here. 
I  shall  tell  Gwendolen  so  when  I  see  her." 

Tyrconnel  frowned. 

"  Everybody  keeps  telling  me  that  I  am  at  death's 
door,"  he  growled. 

"  That's  all  rot,"  said  Coryton,  who  knew  exactly 
how  to  manage  his  ex-charge.  "  All  he  wants  is  a  lit- 
tle lunch  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  so  do  we.  Look 
here,  Vixie,  take  him  up  to  the  Grand  and  order  lunch. 
I'll  join  you  in  half  an  hour.  I've  a  few  things  to 
attend  to.  If  you'd  only  wired  you  were  coming,  old 
man,  I'd  have  arranged  to  be  at  your  disposal  all 
day." 

While  the  two  others  slowly  made  their  way  up 
to  the  Grand  Hotel,  Tyrconnel  complaining  grievously 
of  the  heat  all  the  while,  Coryton  hastily  made  his 
way  into  the  casino  and  scrutinized  all  the  players 
at  the  various  tables.  Gaverigan  was  at  the  first 
table,  in  the  highest  spirits,  evidently  winning  heavily. 
He  called  out  blithely  to  Coryton  to  join  him  as  there 
was  an  unheard-of  run  on  the  tiers  du  cylindre,  but 
Coryton  passed  on  with  a  smiling  shake  of  the  head. 
At  the  next  table  he  paused  a  moment  to  watch  Wil- 
liams and  Wilmot,  who  were  playing  a  system,  as  he 
had  special  reasons  for  wishing  to  know  the  state  of 
their  finances.  He  exchanged  amenities  with  Signor 
Miauli,  of  Stratford-atte-Bowe,  the  popular  tenor, 
whom  he  found  staking  100  francs  gold  bits  profusely 
on  the  transversales  from  behind  Miss  Gussie  Gutter's 
chair.  That  young  lady  called  out  gaily  to  Coryton 
to  come  and  bring  her  luck,  but  he  only  shrugged 
his  shoulders  deprecatingly  and  passed  on  to  the 
trente-et-quarante  room.  Here  Lord  Pimlico  and 
Miss  Theodora  Gargoyle  were  engaged  in  a  fierce 
wrangle  about  the  fetlocks  of  a  horse  called  Saucisson, 
who  had  won  the  Grand  Prix  de  Monte  Carlo  at 
Nice,  and  both  appealed  to  him  for  corroboration. 

They  were  more  difficult  to  shake  off  than  the  rest, 
but  at  last  he  managed  to  escape  and,  after  one  more 
careful  look  all  round,  he  made  his  way  into  the 
reading-room,  which  in  those  days  was  downstairs,  in 
a  last  vain  hope  of  meeting  the  object  of  his  search. 


276  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

There  she  was,  curled  up  in  a  huge  arm-chair  about 
three  sizes  too  large  for  her,  voraciously  reading  the 
Vie  Parisienne,  or  rather  its  pictures. 

"  Oh !  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  scarcely  looking 
up  as  he  entered.  "  Come  and  explain  this  bathing- 
costume  to  me." 

"  I  am  very  angry  with  you,  Sally,"  he  replied. 
"  You  have  wasted  my  time  when  every  moment  is 
of  importance.  You  said  you'd  be  inside  from  twelve 
to  one.  Why  weren't  you  there  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  broke,  if  you  want  to  know.  But  I 
shouldn't  advise  your  trying  to  bully  me.  It's  no  go," 
she  added  with  a  comic  attempt  at  despair. 

"  All  right,"  he  returned,  making  a  motion  as  if  to 
go  away,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  I  had  some  news  for  you, 
but  no  doubt  it  will  keep." 

"  Oh !  you  dear,"  she  said,  slapping  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  beginning  to  twist  her  parasol  in  a  rest- 
less way.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"  It's  only  that  Tyrconnel's  here,"  he  said  quietly. 

Sally  jumped  to  her  feet  in  a  fury  and  made  as 
though  she  was  off  at  once. 

"  Where  ?  where  ?  "  she  cried  excitedly,  "  I'll  have 
at  him,  the  villain  !  Show  me  where  he  is  this  very 
moment." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  All  in  good  time.  I'll  arrange  for 
you  to  interview  him  in  the  course  of  the  day.  You 
must  first  make  up  your  mind  what  you  are  going  to 
say  to  him." 

"  I've  decided  that  long  ago.  I  shall  go  up  to  him 
and  slap  his  face  or  scratch  his  eyes  or  something.  See 
what  he  had  the  insolence  to  send  me." 

And  she  held  up  a  note  in  Tyrconnel's  big  sprawling 
hand. 

"  In  answer  to  your  letter  of  yesterday,  I  suppose  ? ' 

"  Of  course." 

"  May  I  see  it  ? '  Madam.'' — Come  that's  pretty 

stiff ! — '  Although  1  do  not  admit  that  you  have  any 
claim  whatever  upon  me,  I  am  willing  to  send  you 
£10,  as  you  say  you  are  in  distress.  I  advise  you  to 
use  it  to  leave  Monte  Carlo  at  once,  as  I  warn  you  this 
is  the  last  time  I  can  consent  to  assist  you.  Should  you 


THE  HOUSE  OF  EIMMON.  277 

write  again,  your  letters  will  be  returned  unopened. 
Yours  faithfully,  WILFRID  TYRCONNEL.'  Well,  at  any 
rate  you've  got  something  in  black  and  white,  that  may 
come  in  useful  by  and  by." 

"  Yes,  but  a  tenner ! "  screamed  Sally  with  all  the 
scorn  of  a  millionaire.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any- 
thing so  mean  in  your  life  ?  I  took  it  in  this  morning 
and  planked  it  down  on  10  to  21  and  it  was  swept  off 
the  first  go.  So  now  I  haven't  got  sixpence  to  bless 
myself  with." 

"  Well,  you  certainly  won't  get  any  more  if  you  go 
and  scratch  his  face.  If  you  promise  me  not  to  be 
silly,  I'll  try  and  arrange  for  you  to  have  a  talk  with 
him  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so  before  he  goes  back 
to  Cannes,  and  if  you  don't  get  what  you  want  then, 
I've  got  a  much  better  card  up  my  sleeve  for  you. 
Now  I  must  run  off  to  lunch." 

"  Wait  a  bit.  You  might  explain  it  first.  I  don't 
trust  you  an  inch  further  than  I  can  see  you.  You 
made  a  fool  of  me  once  before.  I'm  not  going  to  risk 
it's  happening  again." 

"  Little  unbeliever !  I've  a  great  mind  to  let  you 
fend  for  yourself.  A  fat  lot  of  gratitude  I  get  for  all 
the  trouble  I  take  on  your  account.  However,  since 
you  are  so  anxious  to  know,  I  couldn't  think  of  dis- 
appointing a  lady." 

Sally  put  out  her  tongue,  screwing  up  her  nose  so 
as  to  display  her  dazzling  little  rabbit's  teeth.  But 
he  pretended  not  to  see  and  gave  her  a  hasty  out- 
line of  the  plan  of  campaign  he  proposed  for  her. 
She  listened  with  her  head  on  one  side  in  a  pictur- 
esque way,  smiling  incredulously  all  the  while. 
When  he  had  finished,  she  said  roguishly, 

"  Yes,  and  where  do  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  I ! "  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  eyebrows,  as  if 
that  were  a  too  preposterous  suggestion.  "  It's  not 
my  affair.  I  shall  be  more  than  rewarded  if  Miss 
de  Vere  deigns  to  approve  of  her  humble  slave's 
efforts  on  her  behalf." 

Sally  gave  a  shrill,  derisive  laugh,  but  beamed 
with  pleasure  all  over  her  face,  for  no  compliment 
ever  came  amiss  to  her. 


278  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  You  are  a  downright  humbug,"  she  said  amiably, 
as  he  was  making  his  way  to  the  door,  "  but  some- 
how J  can't  help  liking  you." 

Coryton   made  a  deep  mock  bow  and  hurried  out. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PIGEON. 

Every  one  is  as  God  made  him  and  oftentimes  a  great  deal  worse- 
— SIR  EDWARD  COKE. 

WHEN  Coryton  reached  the  Grand  Hotel  he  found 
lunch  just  being  served. 

"  We  knew  you  wouldn't  like  us  to  wait,  and  have 
these  good  things  spoiled,"  said  Violet  as  he  came 
in.  "I  think  you'll  be  pleased  with  what  we've 
ordered." 

They  were  all  three  very  proud  of  their  knowledge 
of  good  food  and  certainly  the  arts  of  the  cordon 
bleu  at  the  Grand  were  not  thrown  away  upon  them. 
A  very  savory  consomme,  clear  as  liquid  amber, 
put  them  all  in  excellent  humor  from  the  beginning. 
It  was  followed  by  coquillis  de  turbot,  dressed  with 
not  too  much  cheese,  but  just  cheese  flavoring 
enough.  Then  came  quails  en  casserole  and  a  salad 
such  as  Charles,  the  head-waiter,  always  mixed 
specially  for  Coryton.  He  "  showed  a  piece  of  bread 
to  some  garlic,"  as  he  phrased  it,  then  stirred  the 
bread  up  vigorously  with  the  lettuce  and  took  it  out 
before  serving.  Violet  always  declared  this  gave  you 
all  the  naughty  feelings  of  eating  garlic,  without 
making  it  impossible  to  kiss  anybody  afterwards  for 
at  least  twenty-four  hours.  A  mousse  aux  framboises 
was  also  appreciated,  for  they  were  all  sweet-tooths, 
and  they  wound  up  with  Turkish  coffee.  During 
the  meal  they  drank  a  pint  of  Johannisberg  with  the 
fish  and  a  bottle  of  Mouton  Rothschild  1874  with 


THE  PL  UCKING  OF  THE  PIGEON.      279 

the  quails.  Then  eau-de-vie  cle  Danzic  as  a  chasse-cafe 
before  strolling  down  to  the  gambling-rooms. 

They  played  together  in  the  rooms  for  some  time 
and  then  Violet  left  them  for  the  concert,  as  she 
was  especially  anxious  not  to  miss  Saint-Saens's 
"  Danse  Macabre."  It  always  sounds  so  weird  and 
impressive  in  the  big,  dim,  fantastic  concert-room, 
which  seems  more  in  harmony  with  that  piece  than 
almost  any  other  place. 

"You  can  almost  see  the  goblins  skipping  along 
the  edge  of  the  stage  as  the  violins  go  '  Ping !  Ping ! 
Ping ! '  "  she  said.  "  And  the  double-shuffle  of  the 
dwarf  devils,  who  form  the  chorus,  is  amazingly 
creepy.  You  really  ought  to  come  and  hear  it, 
Wilfrid,  instead  of  staying  here  to  lose  money." 

"  The  Pigeon's  got  the  roulette-devil  to  tackle," 
said  Coryton,  making  signs  to  his  wife  not  to  press 
her  suggestion.  "That's  about  as  much  as  he  can 
manage  without  running  after  your  blue  devils  too." 

So  Coryton  and  Tyrconnel  remained  playing  side  by 
side  at  the  trente-et-quarante  table.  The  former  had 
long  ago  come  to  the  conclusion  that  nobody  but  a 
millionaire  can  win  against  the  bank  at  Monte- Carlo, 
and  he  never  played  save  with  an  ulterior  object.  Now 
he  sat  "with  a  little  pile  of  gold  in  front  of  him,  making 
a  great  display  of  interest,  pricking  each  announce- 
ment of  the  winning  color  diligently  on  one  of  the 
ruled  cards  provided  by  the  administration;  but  all 
the  while  he  never  staked  more  than  the  minimum  of 
a  louis  at  a  time,  and  that  not  every  coup.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  and  a  half  he  was  three  louis  to  the 
good  and  announced  that  he  had  had  enough  of  it,  and 
that  it  was  not  worth  all  those  emotions  to  win  such  a 
small  sum. 

His  companion  had  been  plunging  heavily,  having 
begun  with  five  hundred  francs  at  a  time  and  in- 
creased his  stakes  as  he  won.  After  an  hour's  play  he 
was  taking  maximums  every  time  and  had  a  goodly 
pile  of  notes  in  front  of  him.  Happening  to  look  up 
just  then,  he  noticed  a  very  malevolent  little  face 
scowling  at  him  from  behind  the  croupier  opposite. 

"  Heavens  !  "    he  growled  to  himself.     "  Am  I  never 


280  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  THEE. 

to  be  free  from  this  haunting  curse  of  my  old  indis- 
cretion ?  Am  I  doomed  to  have  my  path  crossed  by 
this  vile  woman  every  time  I  go  out  of  doors?" 

He  grew  very  impatient  and  began  to  play  reck- 
lessly, lie  argued  with  himself  that  he  had  known 
Sally  was  at  Monte  Carlo  and  that,  if  he  could  not 
stand  seeing  her,  he  ought  not  to  have  come.  But 
it  was  all  in  vain.  A  blight  seemed  to  have  come  over 
him  and  smothered  all  the  joyousness  of  the  good- 
humor  that  had  buoyed  him  up  ;  he  had  taken  all  the 
sweetness  even  out  of  the  incomparable  pleasure  of  a 
run  of  luck.  It  was  now  fast  turning  into  an  avalanche 
of  disaster,  this  run  of  luck.  Sally's  malevolent  gaze 
was  upon  him  and  seemed  to  cast  a  spell,  so  that  he 
could  do  nothing  right.  Nobody  but  a  gambler  can  have 
any  idea  how  rapidly  a  big  pile  of  big  bank-notes  will 
vanish,  if  only  you  have  lost  your  head  and  are  playing 
recklessly. 

By  the  time  that  Coryton  had  turned  round  and 
announced  his  intention  of  stopping,  content  with  his 
meagre  gains,  the  pile  had  melted  away  and  Tyrconnel 
was  left  with  one  solitary  thousand  franc  note,  which 
he  tossed  gloomily  upon  red. 

"  Tin  apr^s  !  "  the  croupier  announced. 

Tyrconnel  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience,  as  he  saw 
his  last  note  swept  on  to  the  line  to  denote  that  it  was 
"  in  prison  "  and  the  impatience  was  heightened  to  indig- 
nation, as  he  saw  a  mocking  smile  light  up  Sally's 
provokingly  childish  face.  The  cards  were  dealt  out 
again. 

"  Neuf?  said  the  croupier,  announcing  a  heavy  point 
for  black. 

Tyrconnel  gave  a  faint  smile  of  hope  at  the  imminent 
prospect  of  getting  back  his  last  note.  It  would  be  the 
turning  point  and  he  would  have  another  run  of  good 
luck,  if  only  to  spite  Sally.  While  he  was  building 
these  castles  in  the  air,  the  cards  had  been  dealt  and 
there  was  a  whisper  of  vexation  half  way  round  the 
table.  They  were  four  court  cards  for  red  ! 

"  Quarante"  said  the  croupier  mechanically  ;  " rouge 
perd,  couleur  gagne."  And  a  long  rake  came  down  and 
whisked  off  Tyrconnel's  last  note. 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PIGEON.          281 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  an  affectation  of  indifference, 

"  I  suppose  I  must  go  round  to  Smith's  for  some 
more  money.  I  am"  absolutely  stony  now."  "Where- 
upon he  got  up  and  went  slowly  out  of  the  room 
with  Coryton,  studiously  avoiding  Sally's  gaze  as  he 
did  so. 

Tyrconnel  was  well  known  at  the  bank  and  had 
no  difficulty  in  cashing  all  the  checks  he  required. 
As  they  walked  back  to  the  rooms,  Coryton  put  his 
arm  affectionately  through  Tyrconnel's  and  said  in  his 
most  caressing,  confidential  manner, 

"  Old  man,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on  a  rather  deli- 
cate matter,  but  I  want  you  to  promise  me  you  won't 
be  offended." 

Tyrconnel  promised,  as  one  does  on  such  occasions, 
without  enthusiasm. 

"  It's  about  Sally  Popkins.  She  tells  me  you  sent 
her  a  tenner." 

Tyrconnel  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name  and 
then  flushed  up  resentfully  as  Coryton  entered  into 
details. 

"  Well  ? "  he  said,  shaking  himself  free  and  looking 
Coryton  full  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  are  rather  hard  on  her,"  he  replied. 
"After  all,  you  cannot  divest  yourself  of  some  respon- 
sibility for  her  present  position." 

"  Oh  !  come  now,"  he  exclaimed  hotly,  "  that  is 
rather  a  large  order.  She  was  not  precisely  a  type  o£ 
innocence  when  I  first  made  her  acquaintance.  That 
Cottenham  dinner  was  the  beginning  and  end  of  it  all, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  What  possible  claim  could 
she  have  upon  me  now  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  think  she  has,  it  is  not  for  me  to  in- 
terfere. I  certainly  never  expected  that  you  would  be 
mean." 

"  Mean !  I  never  was  called  mean  before.  Now  tell 
me  candidly,  do  you  think  I  am  in  any  way  responsi- 
ble? Come,  now,  as  a  man  of  the  world." 

"  Every  one  of  her  admirers  might  disclaim  responsi- 
bility in  the  same  way.  However,  I  will  say  no  more. 
It  is  no  concern  of  mine  and  I  certainly  don't  want  to 
quarrel  with  you  about  Sally  Popkins." 


282  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

They  had  reached  the  casino  entrance,  but  Tyrcon- 
nel  led  the  way  round  the  building  towards  the  terrace 
without  a  word. 

After  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  he  said  abruptly, 

"  Corry,  if  you  think  I  owe  the  girl  any  reparation, 
I  will  send  her  money,  but  nothing  shall  induce  me  to 
speak  to  her  again." 

"  That's  my  good  Pigeon,"  said  Coryton  patroniz- 
ingly. "  I  knew  you  would.  You.  know  me  well 
enough  to  be  sure  that  I  would  not  advise  you  to  do 
anything  quixotic  or  unnecessary.  But  the  fact  is,  the 
girl  isn't  the  reprobate  you  have  been  inclined  to  take 
her  for,  and  I  know  that,  if  she  were  given  a  chance, 
she  would  ask  nothing  better  than  to  keep  straight  in 
future.  The  difficulty  always  is  that,  when  women 
start  on  that — line  of  country,  they  never  get  a  chance 
of  pulling  up  ;  they  never  have  savings,  no  one  would 
think  of  giving  them  honest  employment,  and  they 
have  no  choice  but  to  go  on  as  they  have  begun.  Now 
if  I  could  raise  a  hundred  or  so  for  her,  I  could  get  her 
started  as  a  florist  in  Belgravia,  where  she  would  have 
an  opportunity  of  making  a  good  thing  of  it  and, 
as  she  would  have  the  comforts  she  has  got  accustomed 
to,  there  would  be  less  danger  of  her  relapsing  to  her 
old  ways.  I  think  that  is  wiser  than  encouraging  her 
to  go  back  on  the  stage,  don't  you  ?  " 

Tyrconnel  looked  Coryton  full  in  the  face  long  and 
thoughtfully. 

"  You  are  a  kind-hearted  chap,  Corry,"  he  said  as 
they  leaned  against  the  parapet  of  the  terrace,  watch- 
ing a  pigeon  flutter  out  of  its  trap  and  then  roll  over 
and  over  in  the  dust,  as  a  gun  flashed  out. 

The  most  picturesque  part  of  the  scene  was  the  re- 
triever that  ran  out  at  once  and  marched  back  trium- 
phantly, with  tail  erect,  carrying  the  dead  bird  in  its 
mouth,  while  a  man  in  a  wonderful  sort  of  Robin  Hood 
costume  trotted  out  at  the  double  to  refill  the  trap. 
There  were  a  series  of  paths  worn  away  in  the  turf 
from  his  starting-point  to  each  of  the  pigeon-trap^, 
showing  how  equally  the  law  of  averages  operated  in 
the  frequency  with  which  they  were  opened. 

"  I  have  always  said  you  weren't  half  so  cynical  ;i3 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  Till:  PIGEON.  283 

you  try  to  make  yourself  out,"  Tyrconnel  pursued. 
"  Of  course  I  will  help  about  the  poor  girl  and  I  am 
sure  I  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  you  for  letting  me 
know  the  real  facts  of  the  case.  She  wrote  and  asked 
me  to  help  her  to  leave  Monte  Carlo  and  I  sent  her  a 
tenner  for  that  purpose,  fully  imagining  all  the  same 
that  she  intended  to  blow  it  away  at  the  tables.  How 
much  do  you  say  you  want  for  her  ?  Here  are  five 
thousand  francs." 

And  he  held  out  some  notes.  But  Coryton  made  no 
sign  of  taking  them. 

"  Won't  you  give  them  to  her  yourself  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  am  sure  she  would  value  them  a  great  deal  more, 
and  it  would  be  an  excellent  opportunity  for  offering 
her  a  little  good  advice." 

"  Xo,  no,  my  dear  fellow,  I  couldn't.  Do  me  this 
favor.  I  shall  be  most  awfully  obliged.  Here,  take 
them.  .  .  .  And  now  let's  talk  of  something  else." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  never  repent  this  good  action," 
said  Coryton,  pocketing  the  notes.  "  I  daresay  I  shall 
get  an  opportunity  of  giving  them  to  her  in  the  rooms 
to-night." 

The  scene  in  the  rooms  after  dinner  was  fast  and 
furious.  It  seemed  as  if  the  players  could  not  lose 
their  money  fast  enough, — so  hotly  did  they  jostle  and 
wrangle  round  the  tables.  Coryton  was  heartily  sick 
of  it  all  long  before  the  announcement  of  the  last  three 
spins.  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  and  see 
Tyrconnel  off  at  the  station  by  the  train  des  deceives, 
which,  so  far  as  Tyrconnel  was  concerned,  was  appro- 
priately named  that  day.  He  had  needed  to  make  a 
number  of  visits  to  Smith's  bank  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon  and  was  about  £1,000  out  on  the  day,  besides 
what  he  had  given  Coryton  for  Sally.  After  the  train 
was  gone,  Coryton  make  his  way  to  the  Cafe  de  Paris, 
where  he  found  Sally  seated  at  a  little  table  drinking 
cura9oa  and  waiting  for  him  by  appointment. 

She  looked  very  fresh  and  desirable  in  her  long  seal- 
skin and  dainty  mauve  skirt,  with  her  face  exquisitely 
made  up  and  her  feet  resting  on  a  neighboring  chair 
so  as  to  display  a  very  smart  pair  of  shoes  and  two 


284  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

most  neatly  turned  little  ankles.  So  a  cut-throat  look- 
ing Roumanian  boyard  seemed  to  think,  much  to 
Sally's  annoyance,  which  she  was  vainly  trying  to  put 
into  words  when  Coryton  came  up.  The  boyard  bowed> 
to  Coryton  and  moved  off  in  search  of  more  promising 
conquests. 

"  What  a  long  time  you  have  been,"  exclaimed  Sally 
petulantly.  "  I  hope  you  bring  me  money  in  propor- 
tion." 

"  Alas !  Sally,"  replied  Coryton  with  mock  contrition, 
"  I  did  all  I  could.  At  first  he  wouldn't  hear  of  doing 
anything.  But  I  told  him  you  were  threatening  to  go 
to  his  wife — 

"  And  that  fetched  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  only  laughed  and  said  you 
would  never  dare  to  do  that,  if  you  did,  she  would 
never  believe  you.  Then  I  tried  a  different  tack  and 
said  you  were  very  anxious  to  reform  and  only  wanted 
a  little  money  to  enable  you  to  do  so.  I  piled  it  on  as 
thick  as  I  could  and  really  thought  at  one  time  I  had 
got  him.  But  after  all  he  only  gave  me  this  for  you." 
Coryton  held  out  a  note. 

"  What !  only  a  '  sing-song.'*  He  is  a  mean  brute. 
What's  the  use  of  a  wretched  £20,  when  I  am  dead 
broke,  and  in  this  hole  of  a  place?" 

Sally's  voice  trembled  with  emotion  and  for  a  mo- 
ment it  seemed  as  if  she  would  give  way  to  an  out- 
burst of  passionate  tears. 

"But  I'll  be  even  with  him  yet.  I'll  go  to  his 
psalm-singing  wife  and  tell  her  a  tale  that'll  startle 
her,  if  it's  only  to  spite  him  for  being  so  infernally 
mean.  Look  here,  Coryton,  you  are  not  a  bad  sort  and 
I'm  grateful  to  you  for  what  you  have  done,  though 
I'm  pretty  sure  you  wouldn't  have  done  it,  if  it  hadn't 
been  to  serve  your  own  purposes.'* 

"  Odd  that  I  should  be  forever  misjudged  in  this 
way  and  thought  incapable  of  any  but  the  lowest 
motives,"  ejaculated  Coryton  with  mock  heroics. 

"No,  I  don't  say  that,"  said  Sally,  taking  his  lament- 
ations seriously.  "  You've  always  acted  straight  with 

*  Monte-Carlo  Slang  for  500  francs. 


THE  PLUCKING  OF  THE  PIGEON.  285 

me  and  I  like  you  better  than  the  rest  of  them.  But 
now  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  tip  what  to  do — how  to 
get  away  from  here." 

"  We  must  talk  it  over  and  that  means  something  to 
drink,"  replied  Cory  ton  rapping  the  table  with  his  stick. 

It  was  nearly  a  quarter  to  one  when  Coryton  parted 
from  his  fair  companion  at  the  door  of  her  hotel.  He 
smiled  to  himself  all  the  way  up  to  the  Grand,  and  all 
the  way  up  to  his  rooms.  There  he  found  Violet  in 
anything  but  a  smiling  mood. 

"  You  have  been  talking  to  that  woman  again,"  she 
said  irritably. 

"Yes,  darling,"  he  replied  in  his  ever-suave  tones, 
"  but  to  some  purpose  and  for  the  last  time.  How  did 
you  get  on  at  roulette?" 

"1  won  twenty  louis  playing  a  very  careful  game 
and  then  I  won  thirty  more  from  Shepheard  at  ecarte 
after  the  rooms  closed.  So  you  see  I  have  not  been 
idle — which  is  just  as  well  for  you,"  she  added  laugh- 
ing, "or  I  shouldn't  be  so  amiable  and  forgiving  to 
you." 

"  You'll  be  more  forgiving  still,  when  you  hear  what 
I've  done,"  he  said.  "  I've  made  £180  on  the  day,  but 
not  by  gambling." 

"  Oh  !  do  tell  me  how,"  she  said,  clapping  her  hands 
childishly. 

When  he  had  related  the  events,  she  grew  grave  and 
made  no  remark  for  some  time.  Then  she  said  in  a 
sweet,  low  voice, 

"  It's  playing  it  rather  low,  isn't  it?  But  I  am  proud 
of  you,  for  you  are  so  clever  and  so  thoughtful  to  me. 
Only  I  do  wish  we  could  afford  to  be  honest.  That  is 
the  luxury  I  covet  most  of  all." 

He  kissed  her  tenderly  and  said,  "  Xo  doubt  we  shall 
be  able  to  afford  it  some  day.  But  we  mustn't  be  too 
extravagant  all  at  once.  If  we  are-  only  patient,  no 
doubt  even  honesty  will  one  day  be  within  our  reach." 


286  THE  GllEEX  BAT  TREE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN. 

Behold  how  great  a  matter  a  little  fire  kindleth  ! — St.  JAMES, 
iii.  5. 

IT  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  :  the  day 
was  scarce  yet  dying.  It  had  been  a  perfect  Riviera 
day,  a  day  of  blue  sky,  soft  warm  breezes,  and  sunny 
lambent  air.  One  of  those  days — all  too  scarce  even 
on  the  Riviera — which  make  one  forget  the  fog  and 
damp  of  Northern  climes  and  turn  with  gladness  to 
the  sunshine  and  flowers  of  this  favored  portion  of 
God's  earth. 

Gwendolen  was  sitting  reading  in  their  handsome 
salon  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Hotel  Beau-site  at 
Cannes.  The  windows,  partly  open  to  the  sunny 
air,  revealed  glimpses  of  green  palm  trees,  and  of  the 
broad  blue  of  the  tideless  Mediterranean.  The  room 
was  full  of  flowers — flowers  everywhere— roses,  bright- 
hued  anemones,  delicate  feathery  branches  of  mi- 
mosa, tulips,  violets — all  scattered  about  in  prodigal 
confusion.  On  a  table  by  her  side  stood  a  photo- 
graph of  her  husband  smiling  at  her  from  out  its 
velvet  frame  and  before  it,  grouped  like  flowers  before 
a  shrine,  was  a  low  vase  filled  with  white  lilies.  The 
piano  was  open,  and  on  it  was  his  favorite  song — the 
one  he  loved  to  hear  her  sing  best.  She  had  been  sing- 
ing it  a  while  ago  and  was  still  crooning  over  the  frag- 
ment of  some  wordless  melody  as  she  read. 

She  had  been  alone  all  the  afternoon.  Wilfrid  was 
gone  over  to  Nice  to  pay  a  duty  visit  to  some  people 
there — friends  of  Lord  Baltinglass.  Gwendolen  had 
half  thought  of  going  with  him,  but  as  they  had  been 
out  together  all  the  morning,  she  felt  a  little  tired  and, 


THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN.  287 

at  the  last  moment,  he  persuaded  her  to  stay  at  home. 
She  looked  very  fair  and  pure  in  a  loose  flowing  gown 
of  some  soft  creamy  texture.  A  half-opened  rosebud 
nestled  among  the  laces  of  her  throat.  His  lips  had 
touched  it  before  he  placed  it  there ;  its  faint  fragrance 
recalled  him  to  her  now,  and  brought  up  the  happy 
smile  which  was  playing  around  her  lips. 

Gwendolen  was  very  happy  just  now,  with  that  calm 
serene  happiness,  which  one  often  sees  in  women  of 
her  type.  Since  her  husband  had  broken  away  from 
her  that  Sunday  evening  and  had  followed  up  his  revolt 
by  the  trip  to  Monte  Carlo,  there  had  been  no  more 
differences  between  them.  A  change  had  come  over 
the  spirit  of  her  dream.  The  masterful  tones  in  which 
he  had  resented  her  interference,  made  her  love  him  in 
secret  the  more.  His  scornful  words,  "  Who  made  you 
a  ruler  and  a  judge  ?  "  rang  in  her  ears  all  the  next 
day.  She  had  been  too  hasty,  too  precipitate,  she  said 
to  herself.  She  had  taken  too  much  upon  herself, 
pressed  him  too  hard,  she  had  not  made  sufficient  al- 
lowance for  his  emotional  nature ;  the  old  Adam  would 
not  die  in  a  day,  Satan  was  making  a  strong  fight. 
But  she  would  win — yes,  she  would  win.  The  light  of 
a  holy  enthusiasm  lit  up  her  face.  But  how  ?  Wilfrid's 
was  a  nature  to  be  led,  not  driven,  henceforth  she 
would  lead  him  by  the  golden  chain  of  love,  not  drive 
him  with  hard  words  or  cram  him  with  Scriptural 
texts.  She  must  change  her  tactics. 

So  when  he  came  back  from  Monte  Carlo  that  night, 
rather  down  in  the  mouth  and  fully  expecting  a  lecture, 
she  greeted  him  to  his  surprise  with  kisses  and  loving 
words.  Xot  a  word  of  reproach  did  she  utter ;  she 
even  hoped  that  he  had  "  spent  a  pleasant  day,"  and 
she  heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  his  head  by  turning  up 
at  breakfast  the  next  morning,  fresh  and  smiling,  full 
of  solicitude  for  his  health  and  of  plans  for  their 
mutual  happiness. 

Tyrconnel  was  full  of  delight  and  surprise  at  this 
sudden  change.  He  met  her  advances  graciously  and 
down  in  his  heart  he  laid  a  flattering  unction  to  his 
soul.  "  That  comes  of  showing  a  woman  who  is 
master,"  he  said  to  himself.  All  his  irritability  and 


288  THE  GllEEN  LA  Y  TREE. 

ill-humor  vanished  and  his  love  for  his  wife  revived 
again  under  the  sunshine  of  her  smiles.  lie  felt  a  little 
ashamed  of  himself  too ;  he  had  not  been  quite  frank 
with  her.  That  scene  with  Sally  still  rankled  in  his 
memory — however  that  was  all  settled  now,  thank 
goodness — Coryton  would  see  to  that ;  and  she  would 
trouble  him  no  more.  In  this  new  mood  his  wife  be- 
came to  him  infinitely  dearer,  infinitely  more  lovable. 
When  he  thought  of  going  to  Monte  Carlo  again,  she 
offered  no  objection  ;  but  things  became  so  pleasant  at 
home  that  he  gradually  ceased  to  wish  to  go  there  at 
all.  Perfect  harmony  was  restored  between  them, 
into  their  waning  honeymoon  there  came  a  sort  of  St. 
Martin's  summer,  an  after-glow  of  love.  The  young 
wife  sometimes  blamed  herself  for  being  so  happy. 
Surely  it  was  sinful  to  fix  her  affections  thus  on  any 
earthly  object.  But  young  love  is  strong  and  young- 
love  is  thoughtless.  After  all,  she  was  but  a  woman 
and  she  loved — and  human  nature  is  much  the  same, — 
whether  it  be  the  saint's  or  the  sinner's. 

Thus  had  drifted  on  the  golden,  sunny  days,  the 
present  all,  the  joy  of  loving  enough. 

Gwendolen  glanced  at  the  time-piece.  It  was  only  a 
little  past  four!  He  would  not  be  back  for  some  time 
yet.  She  felt  inclined  to  scold  laggard  Time  because 
he  went  not  with  swifter  feet. 

"  A  visitor  for  Madame,"  said  the  waiter,  entering 
the  room  with  the  noiseless  step  of  the  well-trained 
Swiss.  "  Does  Madame  receive  ?  " 

Gwendolen  took  the  card  from  the  salver  and  looked 
at  it  with  languid  curiosity.  It  was  a  small,  oblong 
card,  shaped  like  a  man's,  but  on  it  was  inscribed  Miss 
de  Vere,  Alpha  Cottage,  Beta  Road,  St.  John's  Wood. 
Neither  the  name  nor  the  address  conveyed  any  mean- 
ing to  the  innocent  Gwendolen.  She  regarded  the  card 
with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
know  the  lady." 

"  There  is  no  mistake,  Madame,"  replied  the  waiter 
impassively.  "  The  lady  asked  especially  for  the  Hon- 
orable Mrs.  Tyrconnel,  and  if  you  were  engaged  she 
would  wait,  she  said," 


THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN.  289 

Gwendolen's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse ;  then  she 
looked  at  the  time-piece  again.  It  would  be  a  long 
time  before  Wilfrid  came  home.  She  was  more  than 
wearied  of  her  own  society.  Perhaps,  too,  it  was  a 
little  spice  of  feminine  curiosity  which  prompted  her 
to  say : 

"  I  will  see  her ;  ask  her  to  come  up." 

The  waiter  bowed  and  withdrew,  presently  reappear- 
ing to  announce  "  Miss  de  Vere." 

Sally  entered  with  a  timid,  hesitating  step.  She  was 
got  up  for  the  part  with  some  skill.  She  had  donned 
an  old  black  dress  and  quite  a  shabby  hat ;  her  face 
was  absolutely  innocent  of  rouge,  though  there  might 
have  been  a  suspicion  of  blanc  de  perles.  Her  fringe 
was  out  of  curl ;  her  eyes  were  cast  down  sadly  on  the 
floor. 

"  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Tyrconnel  ? "  she  said  inter- 
rogatively when  the  waiter  had  closed  the  door. 

"  Yes,  I  am  Mrs.  Tyrconnel,"  answered  Gwendolen 
kindly.  "  Pray  be  seated  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do 
for  you." 

She  looked  very  nervous,  this  poor  little  thing  ; 
perhaps  she  was  a  teacher  of  English,  a  governess, 
or  something  of  the  kind,  who  wanted  befriending  in 
a  foreign  land.  And  yet — she  did  not  look  quite  like 
a  governess;  Gwendolen  had  had  no  experience  of 
young  women  of  Sally's  type,  either  with  their  war- 
paint on,  or  without.  She  was  as  innocent  as  a  child. 

Sally  eyed  her  doubtfully.  She  had  not  come  pre- 
pared for  this  gracious  greeting.  She  had  understood 
from  Mr.  Coryton  that  young  Mrs.  Tyrconnel  was  a 
very  religious  person,  and  religion  in  Sally's  mind  was 
associated  with  straight-backed  spinsters  and  aggress- 
ive matrons,  withering  looks,  frigid  words  and  a  sort 
of  "  do-not-contaminate-me  "  manner.  If  she  had  been 
received  in  this  way,  she  had  a  retort  ready  to  hand ; 
she  would  have  been  easy  enough.  As  it  was,  she  felt 
a  little  nonplussed.  She  looked  about  her  in  a  helpless 
sort  of  way,  not  knowing  how  to  begin. 

"  Pray  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen encouragingly. 

Sally's  eyes  wandered  around  the  room  until  they 


290  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

fell  upon  the  photograph  of  Tyrconnel.  That  nerved 
her.  A  gleam  of  resentment  shone  in  her  eyes. 
"  There  is  no  hatred  like  a  woman  scorned."  The 
more  concealed  it  is,  the  more  dangerous  is  the  venom, 
and  in  this  instance  the  venom  was  prompted  almost 
as  much  by  resentment  as  by  greed. 

"  I  am  very — very  unhappy,"  she  said,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

She  could  not  have  begun  better.  Gwendolen's 
sympathies  were  aroused  in  an  instant.  She  got  up 
from  her  chair  and,  coming  across  to  where  the  other 
was  sitting  with  bowed  head,  touched  her  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  gently,  "  tell  me  what  your 
trouble  is." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,"  whimpered  Sally, 
rubbing  her  eyes  the  harder.  u  Oh  dear ! — oh  dear ! — 
to  think  it  should  have  come  to  this." 

Gwendolen  looked  perplexed  at  this  somewhat  irrel- 
evant outburst.  However,  she  waited  patiently  ;  she 
did  not  like  to  force  a  confidence.  She  saw  that  her 
visitor  was  in  trouble,  and  like  most  amateur  philan- 
thropists, she  had  no  power  to  distinguish  between  the 
genuine  and  the  false.  Here  was  an  opportunity  for 
her  to  translate  into  practice  some  of  her  beautiful 
theories.  Meanwhile  the  astute  little  actress  went  on 
sniffing  behind  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Come,  tell  me  what  your  trouble  is  about,"  said 
Gwendolen  presently.  Then  she  added  in  a  tone  of 
apology  for  her  words,  "  You  see,  I  cannot  help  you 
until  I  know." 

"  What  is  it  about  ?  "  echoed  Sally— "Ah  !  I  forgot— 
you  know  nothing."  Then  with  a  tragic  gesture  to- 
wards the  photograph,  "  It's  about  him  /" 

Gwendolen  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  in  silent 
astonishment.  Had.this  young  person  taken  leave  of 
her  senses  ?  Perhaps  she  referred  to  some  unknown 
"  him."  But  no,  one  of  Sally's  hands  covered  her  eyes, 
the  other  pointed  an  accusing  forefinger  straight  at 
Wilfrid's  photograph. 

"  My  husband,"  said  Gwendolen  vaguely.  "  Surely 
there  must  be  some  mistake."  Then  a  sudden  fear 


THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN.  291 

rushed  over  her,  her  heart  leaped  to  her  mouth.  "Tell 
me,"  she  cried,  "  is  it  bad  news  ?  Has  anything  hap- 
pened to  him  ? — Oh !  tell  me  quickly — quickly,  I  can 
bear  anything  but  the  suspense." 

"  Him,"  said  Sally  scornfully.  "  Oh  !  nothing  has 
happened  to  him  that  I  know  of — he's  right  enough, 
you  may  be  sure.  It  is  what  has  happened  to  me. 
Oh  dear  ! — Oh  dear!  "  she  went  on,  rocking  herself  to 
and  fro.  "  You  think  I  should  live  to  see  this  day.  You, 
his  wife,  and  I — nothing — nothing." 

Her  simulated  sobs  broke  forth  afresh. 

Gwendolen  drew  herself  -proudly  up  and  moved  a 
little  distance  off. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said  coldly,  with  a  gest- 
ure that  a  Roman  matron  might  have  envied. 

"  There !  "  said  Sally  brokenly,  "  I  might  have  known 
it ! — I  might  have  known  how  you  would  have  taken 
it.  You  are  like  all  the  rest.  It  is  always  the  poor 
girl  who  suffers.  She  is  always  blamed,  trampled  on, 
despised,  while  the  man  goes  scot-free." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Gwendolen,  grow- 
ing p'ale  to  the  lips.  "  My  ideas  of  right  and  wrong 
are  the  same  in  the  case  of  both  men  and  women.  But 
I  do  not  know  what  you  mean — to  what  you  refer. 
My  husband  is  nothing — can  be  nothing — to  you,  nor 
you  to  him — nothing,"  she  added  with  strained  in- 
sistence. 

"  Nothing — nothing  now,"  repeated  Sally  sadly,  the 
corners  of  her  baby-rnouth  drooping  again.  "  Ah !  that 
is  the  pity  of  it.  And  yet  once  he  vowed  by  all  the 
vows.  Ah !  me — I  had  better  die." 

So  might  Marguerite  have  spoken  of  her  betrayal. 

Gwendolen  looked  at  her  with  astonishment  and 
indignation.  A  passionate  denial  rose  to  her  lips. 
She  moved  towards  the  bell.  But  as  she  did  so,  some 
faint  chord  in  her  memory  vibrated  again.  Where 
had  she  seen  that  face  before? — Ah  !  she  remembered. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  quickly,  "  were  you  not  at 
Henley?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Sally  in  the  same  mournful  cadence, 
noting  the  change  of  purpose  nevertheless.  ("  Meant 
to  turn  me  out,  did  she?  "she  thought  to  herself.) 


292  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

"  Yes — I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it.  I  passed  you 
on  the  river.  He  looked  at  me  as  if  I  was  dirt.  You 
and  he  were  sitting  together  in  a  boat  beneath  the 
alder-trees." 

Gwendolen  bowed  her  head  to  hide  the  vague  dread 
in  her  eyes.  Little  links  pieced  themselves  together 
in  her  chain  of  memory.  The  look  she  had  noticed  on 
the  girl's  face  that  day,  Wilfrid's  confusion,  his  eva- 
sive answer  to  her  query — all  rushed  before  her  again. 
She  put  her  hand  to.  her  throat,  something  hurt  her 
there  ....  What  mystery  was  this?  What  did  it 
mean  ?  Into  the  sunshine  of  her  young  love  there  stole 
the  shadow  of  distrust. 

From  behind  her  pocket-handkerchief  Sally  noted 
everything.  She  was  quick  to  follow  up  the  advan- 
tage she  had  gained. 

"  I  was  only  a  poor  ignorant  girl,"  she  continued  in 
the  same  melancholy  monotone,  "  and  he  a  gentleman 
born.  I  did  wrong  of  course,  but  then  I  was  so  young 
— and  I  loved  him — not  wisely,  but  too  well."  (She 
remembered  this  phrase  in  some  play  she  had  acted  in.) 
"  I  gave  up  everything  for  him — then  I  was  cast  off, 
ruined,  thrown  aside  like  an  old  shoe — and  in  those 
days  at  Cambridge  I  thought — fool  that  I  was — that  he 
loved  me." 

Gwendolen  staggered  back  and  put  her  hand  on  the 
table  for  support.  As  she  did  so,  the  photograph  fell 
with  a  crash  to  the  floor.  It  lay  there  unheeded.  Her 
breath  was  coming  in  short  quick  beats,  her  eyes  were 
wide  with  horror. 

"  At  Cambridge !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sally,  warming  to  her  part,  "  Oh  !  how 
I  wish  I  had  never  heard  of  the  place,  I  was  innocent 
till  I  went  there.  I  went  at  first  with  My  Sweetheart 
Company.  I  was  earning  £10  a  week,"  (as  a  matter 
of  fact  she  had  never  earned  more  than  £4  even  in  the 
ante-Pimlico  days,)  "  and  I  should  be  now,  if  only  I 
hadn't  been  led  astray.  I  was  at  Cambridge  off  and 
on,  after  that — after  I  met  him — whenever  he  wanted 
me  to  go.  Last  time  I  was  there  was  February  year. 
'  Twas  about  me  he  got  sent  down."  And  then, 
noticing  the  flash  of  indignation,  which  spread  itself 


THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN.  293 

over  her  listener's  face,  she  changed  her  tack.  "  Oh 
dear, — Oh  dear,''  she  wailed,  "  if  my  poor  mother  could 
but  see  me  now !  " 

She  burst  into  tears  once  more. 

Gwendolen  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not — tried  to 
think,  but  could  not.  The  thought  that  her  husband 
— the  man  she  loved,  should  have  been  linked  with  this 
low  intrigue  stunned  her.  She  felt  degraded,  ashamed. 
Her  purity,  her  outraged  love  were  both  in  arms.  She 
recoiled  in  disgust — the  thing  was  monstrous,  incredi- 
ble. She  turned  on  Sally  with  sudden  scorn. 

"  How  dare  you — how  dare  you  !  "  she  cried.  "  My 
husband  !  I  do  not  believe  you — I  will  not." 

It  was  then  that  Sally  rose  to  her  greatest  height. 
Had  she  been  a  less  accomplished  actress,  a  less  con- 
summate hypocrite,  she  would  have  met  Gwendolen's 
scorn  with  words  as  angry  as  her  own.  But  she  saw 
that  her  disbelief  was  only  half-hearted,  that  she  was 
struggling  against  her  growing  convictions.  She  met 
her  angry  gaze  with  sorrowful  eyes,  with  an  air  of  in- 
jured innocence. 

"  In  that  case  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  she 
answered  in  a  broken  despairing  kind  of  way,  rising 
from  her  chair  as  she  spoke.  "  I  might  have  known 
it  all  along :  it  is  the  poor  girl  who  always  suffers. 
That  is  what  he  said — '  Who  will  believe  you  ? '  He 
was  right.  I  had  better  go— 

She  made  as  though  to  go  to  the  door,  moving  with 
feeble  uncertain  steps.  All  the  same  she  fully  meant 
to  turn  back  if  Gwendolen  didn't  stop  her. 

But  Gwendolen  did.  Her  anger  died  away  as  she 
looked  at  the  bowed  figure  and  listened  to  those  un- 
resentful  hopeless  words.  After  all,  the  poor  girl 
was  probably  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  In 
her  divine  charity,  she  was  willing  to  make  every 
allowance  for  this  penitent  Magdalene — this  weak  err- 
ing sister,  the  victim  of  manrs  selfish  passion.  The 
very  way  in  which  she  had  met  her  anger  brought  con- 
viction with  it.  The  cold,  sick  fear  tightened  itself 
around  her  heart.  She  laid  an  arresting  hand  on  the 
other's  arm. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  mastering  herself  with  an 


294  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

effort.  "I  was  too  hasty — perhaps.  I  will  hear  all 
you  have  to  say — do  you  hear  me,  all.  Let  me  know 
the  worst." 

Then  Sally  told,  falsifying  facts,  putting  her  own 
gloss  upon  everything,  representing  herself  as  the 
tempted,  Tyrconnel  as  the  tempter;  she  the  betrayed, 
he  the  betrayer ;  he  had  ruined  her,  abandoned  her, 
wrecked  her  life.  Yet  she  was  careful  always  to  speak 
of  him  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger.  Of  course  she 
magnified  the  Cambridge  incident  out  of  all  its  true 
proportions,  and  upon  this  slender  foundation  of  fact 
she  reared  a  whole  edifice  of  falsehood.  It  was  just 
this  substratum  of  truth  which  made  the  lie  so  difficult 
to  detect. 

Gwendolen  listened  in  silence,  keeping  mastery  over 
herself  by  a  tremendous  effort.  All  the  warm  sweet- 
ness of  her  young  love  turned  to  gall  as  she  listened. 
Her  innocence  made  her  a  dupe  to  this  plausible  tale ; 
her  purity  made  her  hard  and  cold  towards  her  hus- 
band. She  had  high  ideals,  this  young  bride.  She  did 
not  see  things  as  the  world  sees  them.  What  to  some 
might  have  appeared  an  indiscretion  of  hot-headed 
youth,  was  to  her  a  deadly  sin,  the  very  thought  of 
which  filled  her  with  loathing,  not  only  towards  the 
sin  but  towards  the  sinner.  And  then  the  treachery  of 
it  all.  He  had  pretended  to  tell  her  everything, — all 
the  weaknesses,  all  the  follies  of  his  life  and  she  had 
forgiven  everything  as  freely  as  she  hoped  to  be  for- 
given. This,  then,  was  the  true  reason  of  his  having 
been  sent  down  from  Cambridge ;  until  now,  the  pun- 
ishment had  always  seemed  to  her  disproportionate  to 
the  offence.  What ! — he  must  have  left  her  that  very 
night,  when  she  promised  to  become  his  wife,  and  have 
gone  a  few  days  after,  perhaps  the  very  same  night  to 
this  woman,  gone  with  her  love- words  still  ringing  in 
his  ears  and  with  her  kisses  still  warm  upon  his  lips. 
The  thought  was  torture — she  bowed  her  head  in 
shame — shame  for  herself,  shame  for  him. 

Sally  finished  her  narrative  at  last  and  sat  silent, 
watching  furtively  her  victim's  face  to  see  how  the 
poison  worked.  She  could  glean  little  from  that  down- 
turned  face ;  it  was  cold  as  marble,  impassive  as  the 


THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  EDEN.  295 

Sphinx.  Xo  one  would  have  known  the  tumult  which 
was  going  on  within.  Yet  even  as  she  looked,  a  faint 
change  broke  over  it.  It  might  not  be  true.  Gwen- 
dolen caught  at  the  hope,  as  a  drowning  man  catches 
at  a  straw. 

"  What  proof  have  you  of  all  this  ?  "  she  asked,  lift- 
ing her  head  suddenly. 

"  Proof !  "  echoed  Sally  with  quivering  lips,  "  proof 
enough.  You  can  easily  find  out.  Every  one  knows — 
ask  Pirn — ahem  !  I  mean  ask  Lord  Pimlico — ask  Mr. 
Coryton — though  they  would  not  like  to  tell  tales 
against  their  friend"  she  added  with  emphasis.  "  Find 
out  why  he  was  sent  down  from  Cambridge.  But 
here,"  producing  the  letter  which  Tyrconnel  had 
weakly  written  to  her  in  answer  to  her  urgent  appeal 
— "  this,  I  had  from  him  only  the  other  day — would  he 
be  likely  to  write  to  me,  think  you — unless  there  was 
a  reason  for  it.  Here,  read  it," — handing  her  the  letter. 

This  was  another  stroke  of  Sally's  genius.  She 
knew  the  chances  were  ten  to  one  against  Gwendolen's 
reading  the  letter.  She  had  gauged  her  character  to  a 
certain  extent. 

Gwendolen  took  the  letter  with  a  hand  which 
trembled  in  spite  of  herself.  Yes — the  writing  on 
the  envelope  was  in  Wilfrid's  big  sprawling  hand. 
She  had  seen  enough.  She  gave  it  back  with  a  proud 
gesture. 

"  It  is  not  meant  for  me  to  read,"  she  said.  "  I — I 
will  ask  him  myself — and  now  leave  me,  pray  leave 
me.  I  wish  to  be  alone." 

Yes,  she  wished  to  be  alone,  to  think,  poor  soul,  to 
try  and  grasp  the  full  horror  of  this  revelation.  She 
did  not  speak  unkindly — there  was  pity  in  her  face  as 
she  turned  it  towards  her  companion.  Yet  she  could 
not  help  an  involuntary  recoil.  Moments  of  intense 
joy  or  sorrow  .illumine  the  character  as  nothing  else 
can.  This  moment  of  anguish  revealed  Gwendolen, 
just — but  cold  and  hard. 

Sally  looked  somewhat  blank  at  this  unceremonious 
conge.  It  hardly  suited  her  purpose  that  the  interview 
should  terminate  like  this.  Instead  of  moving,  she 
began  to  weep  again. 


296  THE  GREEN  KAY  TREE. 

"Go!" — she' echoed  despairingly.  "Where  am  I 
to  go  to  without  money,  without  friends  ?  The  bot- 
tom of  the  sea  is  the  only  place  for  me.  He  won't  help 
me — he  who  brought  all  this  trouble  upon  me,  and 
I — I — am  penniless,"  she  whimpered  through  her 
tears. 

"  Penniless !  "  echoed  Gwendolen  with  astonishment. 
There  was  a  lower  depth  still.  The  man  she  called 
husband  was  not  only  profligate  but  mean.  But  that 
struck  her  as  so  utterly  foreign  to  his  character  that  a 
faint  suspicion  stole  over  her  again. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  come  out  to  the  Riviera 
then  ?  "  she  asked. 

Sally  hung  her  head. 

"  Don't  ask  me  ?  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Such 
things  are  not  for  your  ears — I  have  sunk  lower  and 
lower  since  I  left  Cambridge — since  I  lost  my  inno- 
cence. There  are  plenty  of  temptations  for  a  poor 
girl  like  me.  But  I  am  tired  of  it  all — I  want  to  lead 
a  good  life — that  is  all  I  want,  a  little  money  to  start 
me.  Without  it  I  cannot — I  must  live." 

Gwendolen  shuddered.  A  great  rush  of  pity  swept 
over  her,  as  she  looked  at  the  little  figure  in  the  shabby 
black  dress.  Who  was  she  that  she  should  judge  her 
— her  husband's  victim,  ignorant,  illiterate,  her  very 
beauty  a  snare?  She  had  never  had  a  fair  chance. 
How  selfish  men  were,  how  gross,  how  brutal !  This 
poor  creature  had  not  only  been  betrayed  but  aban- 
doned, thrown  aside  like  a  broken  toy — and  her  be- 
trayer— God  help  her !  was  her  husband. 

"  Penniless !  "  said  Gwendolen  again.  Then  she 
arose  and  went  over  to  her  desk.  There  was  a  roll  of 
bank-notes  in  it,  which  Wilfrid  had  given  her  only  the 
other  day  for  sundry  bills  and  expenses;  there  was 
money  also  which  her  father  had  pressed  upon  her. 
She  took  it  all, — all  save  two  bank-notes  which  she 
kept  back  in  an  afterthought.  She  thrust  the  notes 
and  gold  in  Sally's  hands. 

"  Here,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  Take  this — take  this 
— and  may  God  in  His  mercy  guard  you  and  help  you 
to  lead  a  better  life.  And  now — do  not  think  me  un- 
kind— go  I  implore  you — go — I  must  be  alone." 


FLIGHT.  297 

She  almost  pushed  the  astonished  Sally  out  of  the 
room  and  closed  the  door  upon  her. 
•  "  Well,  I  never !  "  said  Sally  to  herself  as  she  tripped 
down  the  stairs,  "  if  ever  I  see  such  a  woman  in  all 
my  life.  That's  a  good  job  over  and  done  with  any 
way.  Why,  there  must  be  nigh  upon  £200  here  if 
there's  a  penny !  He'll  get  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour 
when  he  comes  home.  .  .  .  How  well  she  took  it  too, 
—so  quiet-like.  I  hope  I  didn't  hurt  her  feelings  more 
than  I  was  obliged  to.  But  there,  I  don't  suppose  she 
cares  much  about  him." 

From  which  it  may  be  gathered  that  women  of 
Gwendolen's  type  did  not  altogether  come  within  the 
range  of  Sally's  mental  vision. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FLIGHT. 

The  prejudices  of  men  emanate  from  the  mind,  and  may  be 
overcome;  the  prejudices  of  women  emanate  from  the  heart,  and 
are  impregnable. — D'ARGENS. 

GWENDOLEN  was  alone  at  last !  She  looked  around 
her  in  a  bewildered  way.  She  could  hardly  realize 
it  yet.  The  flowers  and  the  light  seemed  to  mock 
her.  She  passed  into  the  inner  room  and,  throwing 
herself  face  downward  on  the  bed,  lay  there,  trying  to 
think,  trying  to  nerve  herself  for  the  task  which  lay 
before  her. 

Now  and  again  a  faint  flicker  of  hope  awoke  within 
her  ;  it  might  not  be  true — and  yet — and  yet — the 
different  parts  of  the  story,  dovetailed  in  with  one 
another  so  well.  Surely  no  woman  would  thus  lie 
away  her  honor  ?  Ah  no  !  It  must  be  true.  Wounded 
love  and  wounded  pride  strove  together  in  Gwendolen's 
heart.  And  to  these  was  added  the  horror  of  the  sin. 
Her  standard  of  morality  was  a  high  one.  She  knew 


298  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

no  distinction  in  the  moral  code  between  the  man  and 
the  woman.  In'  her  eyes  the  fall  from  purity  in  the 
one  was  as  great  as  the  fall  in  the  other.  Her  feelings 
were  in  fact  just  what  her  husband's  would  have  been, 
had  a  similar  tale  been  told  to  him  of  his  wife — only 
he  would  have  disbelieved  :  she  believed. 

She  lay  there  battling  with  the  anguish  in  her  soul. 
Only  an  hour  ago,  and  her  life  was  full  of  light  and 
love  and  happiness.  Now  it  was  stripped  and  bare ! 
She  was  alone.  The  brief  day  faded  and  died,  the 
gloaming  came;  but  still  she  lay  there,  praying 
for  guidance,  thinking  —  thinking  —  thinking.  Her 
thoughts  all  brought  her  round  to  the  same  point.  If 
the  story  were  true — then  she  and  her  husband  must 
part. 

At  last  there  smote  on  her  ears  the  sound  of  an 
opening  door. 

"Gwendolen,"  came  her  husband's  eager  voice 
through  the  shadows,  "  Gwendolen  !  " 

But  a  few  hours  ago,  how  she  would  have  welcomed 
him,  how  she  would  have  thrown  her  arms  around  his 
neck  in  eager  rapture,  scolding  him  playfully  for  hav- 
ing tarried  so  long  away  from  her!  Now  she  con- 
fronted him  in  the  waning  light,  stern  and  cold  as  an 
accusing  angel.  The  struggle  she  had  been  through 
had  left  its  mark  upon  her.  Her  face  was  white  and 
drawn,  deep  lines  had  cut  themselves  across  her  brow, 
and  around  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  In  her  eyes 
there  was  a  look  Tyrconnel  had  never  seen  before. 

"  Gwendolen,  dear  one,"  he  cried  in  alarm,  coming 
towards  her.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill? " 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  waved 
him  off. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  in  a  low  intense  voice,  ignoring 
his  question,  "  Tell  me,  is  this  vile  thing  true  ?  " 

"  What  thing?  "  he  asked  in  astonishment.  "What 
on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like 
this?" 

"  This  will  explain,"  she  answered  briefly  and  she 
held  out  to  him  Sally's  card,  which  until  now  had 
been  clutched  in  her  hand.  "  Does  this  convey  any 
meaning  to  you  ?  " 


FLIGHT.  299 

Tyrconnel  took  it  wonderingly.  As  he  read  the 
name  a  great  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over  him. 
He  drew  back  involuntarily ;  his  breathing  became 
more  labored,  the  hectic  spot  burned  on  his  cheek 
again.  His  hands  grew  moist.  The  serpent  had 
penetrated  his  Eden.  This  then  was  the  meaning  of 
Sally's  scarce-veiled  threat  in  the  begging-letter  she 
had  written  to  him.  She  had  been  here  with  some 
false  lying  tale,  poisoning  his  wife's  mind  against  him. 
Curse  her !  Curse  her ! 

He  trembled  with  impotent  rage.  The  hacking 
cough  came  on  again.  In  his  agitation  he  could  not 
stop  it. 

Gwendolen  noticed  his  hesitation,  his  flushed  face, 
his  trembling  hands.  Her  heart  sank  within  her.  To 
her  mind  these  were  so  many  signs  of  guilt. 

"Does  this  woman's  name  convey  any  meaning  to 
you?"  she  asked  again.  Her  voice  was  cold  and 
stern.  Then  suddenly  a  little  break  came  in  it. 
"  Oh !  Wilfrid,  why  do  you  not  speak  ?  Say  it  does 
not — say  it  does  not " 

"It  conveys  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  voice  thick  with 
anger,  "the  name  of  a  bad  designing  woman,  who 
has  dared — dared  to  force  herself  into  your  presence — 
How  dare  she  do  this  thing  ?" 

Gwendolen  recoiled  a  step.  He  knew  her.  Until 
now  she  had  hoped  faintly — ever  so  faintly — that  he 
would  deny  all  knowledge  of  her  and  her  works. 

"  Need  makes  one  greatly  daring,"  she  said  bitterly. 
"You  know  this  woman  then.  She  has  told  me  all — 
all — do  you  understand?  Answer  me,  is  it  true  or 
false  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  I  know  the  woman,"  he  said  a 
little  impatiently,  "  and  that  she  is  a  bad  woman — 
not  fit  for  you  to  speak  to — even  to  talk  about. 
What  has  she  told  you?  If  you  will  explain  more 
fully,  perhaps  I  may  understand  you.  At  present  I 
confess  your  meaning  is  beyond  me.  What  is  it  you 
wish  to  know?" 

"  Is  it  true  ? "  she  asked  again,  "  that  you  sinned 
against  her — Is  it  true  or  false  ?  " 

A  red  flush  burned  itself  on  Tyrconnel's  face.    The 


300  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

memory  of  that  one  false  step,  of  that  past  slip — in 
which  he  was  more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  rose 
up  before  him. 

"  Gwendolen,"  he  faltered,  "  you  do  not  understand. 
I- 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  passionate  gesture.  In 
his  hesitation  she  read  the  confirmation  of  her  worst 
fears. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  "  but  too  well.  I  ask  you 
a  plain  question,  I  want  a  plain  answer — Yes  or  no  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  hopelessly.  He  knew  -what  she 
was  like  in  these  moods — to  reason  with  her  was  im- 
possible. How  could  he  make  her  understand  ?  Her 
very  purity,  her  innocence,  fought  against  him.  The 
repented  sin  rose  up  and  confronted  him  in  all  its 
hideousness.  Surely  he  had  suffered  enough  for  it 
already. 

"  Answer  me  yes  or  no,"  she  pleaded.  "  Oh  !  Wil- 
frid, if  you  love  me — if  you  have  ever  loved  me,  deny 
this  thing.  I  cannot  bear  it." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Her  grief  touched  him  far  more  than  her  anger  had 
done.  His  heart  ached  to  wound  her  so. 

"  Gwendolen,"  he  said  despairingly — "  How  can  I 
explain  to  you — innocent  as  you  are  about  such  things. 
I  was  guilty  of  folly — of  weakness,  I  was  tempted  and 
I  fell — I  was  not  myself — I— 

She  staggered  back  against  a  chair,  her  hands  fell 
from  her  face,  she  looked  at  him  with  eyes  wide  with 
repulsion.  This  was  his  excuse  then ;  like  Adam  in 
the  garden "  The  woman  tempted  me"  Faugh! 

"  Then  it  is  true,"  she  whispered.  "  You  have  be- 
trayed her  and  deceived  me  ?  " 

This  assumption  of  his  guilt,  this  sweeping  con- 
demnation of  his  error,  was  a  little  too  much  for 
Tyrconnel.  He  was  quite  prepared  to  admit  that  he 
had  done  wrong,  but  not  that  it  was  so  bad  as  this. 
They  were  to  a  certain  extent  at  cross  purposes.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  tissue  of  falsehood  told  her 
by  Sally,  he  of  that  slip  at  Cambridge.  But  the 
element  of  fact  common  to  both,  made  it  the  more 
difficult  to  distinguish  between  the  true  and  the  false. 


FLIGHT.  801 

"  You  are  hard,"  he  said,  "  hard  and  unjust.  I  do 
not  wish  to  defend  myself.  There  were  extenuating 
circumstances — but  I  did  wrong,  I  admit  that.  I 
ought  to  have  told  you  perhaps — but  how  could  I  ? 
It  was  to  spare  you  that  I  did  not.  The  thing  is 
bad,  but  why  magnify  it  out  of  all  its  true  propor- 
tions ?  Surely  you  will  not  allow  a  little  thing  like 
this  to— 

A  wave  of  disgust  swept  over  Gwendolen's  face. 

"  A  little  thing,"  she  echoed,  "  to  you  perhaps,  but 
not  to  me — not  to  her.  A  wife  deceived,  a  girl  betrayed 
— a  little  thing!  Is  it  a  little  thing  to  her — your 
victim  ?  Nay,  hear  me  out  " —  he  was  about  to  speak. 
"  Are  we  women  slaves,  think  you  ?  to  be  used  as  you 
will,  and  then  cast  aside  like  broken  toys  ?  Why 
were  you  not  frank  with  me  ?  Had  I  known  this,  I 
would  rather  have  died  than  have  become  your  wife. 
Yob.  have  deceived  me  and  ruined  her.  You  have 
wrecked  both  our  lives." 

Tyrconnel  stood  aghast  at  this  torrent  of  reproach. 
He  could  not  understand  it.  Allowing  for  the  gloss 
Sally  was  sure  to  have  put  upon  the  story,  allowing 
for  the  way  in  which  purity,  such  as  Gwendolen's, 
might  have  been  expected  to  recoil  from  evil — surely 
there  was  nothing  in  it,  even  then,  to  merit  this  sweep- 
ing condemnation. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  he  said  again, — "there 
must  be  some  mistake." 

"  There  is  no  mistake,"  she  said  sadly.  A  stubborn 
line  cut  itself  around  her  mouth. 

"  But  let  me  explain  how  it  was  that " 

She  raised  her  head. 

"  God  forbid !  Do  not  pollute  your  lips  nor  my  ears. 
I  want  neither  explanation  nor  palliation.  Besides, 
what  difference  would  it  make.  You  have  admitted 
your  guilt — No  ?  .  .  .  .  No  ?  .  .  .  .  Then  I  will  frame 
my  question  another  way — Was  it  on  account  of  this 
woman  that  you  were  sent  down  from  Cambridge  ?  " 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  he  resented  the  tone  in 
which  the  question  was  put,  more  than  the  question 
itself.  Argument  and  explanation  seemed  alike  im- 
possible to  combat  Gwendolen's  prejudices.  He  was 


302  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

truthful.  She  had  better  know  the  truth,  and  then  be 
left  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

"  I  cannot  deny  it — Yes,"  he  said  coldly. 

She  bowed  her  head  with  a  low  moan — her  last  atom 
of  hope  was  gone ;  it  was  true  then,  this  horrid  thing 
which  was  poisoning  her  life. 

He  looked  at  her  dumbly  and  cursed  Sally  again 
in  his  heart.  He  felt  very  .miserable  and  a  little 
angry  too.  It  was  natural  perhaps  that  Gwendolen 
should  feel  it — but  not  that  she  should  be  so  unrea- 
sonable as  this.  As  the  Archdeaconess  used  to  say 
"Young  men  will  be  young  men,  and  boys  will  be 
boys." 

"  You  take  things  too  seriously,"  he  said,  uttering 
his  thoughts  aloud. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  world  of  reproach  in  her 
great  eyes. 

"  Too  seriously  !  What  would  you  think  if  I — I, 
your  wife,  had  sinned  so — and  concealed  from  you  my 
sin." 

"  Hush — hush !  "  he  said  more  gently.  The  mere 
thought  of  such  a  thing  in  connection  with  Gwendolen 
seemed  a  profanation.  "  You  do  not  understand,  you 
are  a  woman,  I  am  a  man — that  makes  the  differ- 
ence." 

"  Are  there  then  two  codes  of  morality  ? "  she 
asked  with  fine  scorn,  "one  for  woman,  and  one  for 
man?  Were  two  sets  of  commandments  given  on 
Sinai  ?  Did  Christ  preach  two  Gospels  ?  Not  so. 
In  the  sight  of  God  the  sin  is  the  same,  be  it  man  o"r 
woman." 

"  You  are  young  and  inexperienced,"  he  said,  "  or 
you  would  not  look  at  things  in  this  light.  In  the 
eyes  of  the  world — and  you  and  I  have  to  live  in  the 
world — the  two  cases  are  widely  different." 

"  The  world  !  "  she  replied,  "  What  is  the  world  to 
me  ?  Did  I  not  always  tell  you  that  the  world  was 
nothing  to  me— nothing." 

"In  the  eyes  of  common-sense  then,"  he  said  im- 
patiently, a  little  wearied  of  the  lengthened  dialogue 
and  with  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  was  get- 
ting the  worst  of  it.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  argue  with 


FLIGHT.  803 

you,  it  is  useless  to  argue  with  an  angry  woman. 
As  to  my  'sin,'  as  you  phrase  it,  I  have  told  you 
that  I  am  sorry — more  sorry  than  I  can  say.  Let 
that  be  the  end  of  the  matter.  Whatever  happened, 
it  was  before  I  was  your  husband.  I  have  not  failed 
in  my  duty  since.  Do  not  you  fail  in  your  duty  to  me 
now." 

"  My  duty — Ah  !  what  is  my  duty  ?  "  she  queried 
more  to  herself  than  to  him. 

"  Obedience,"  he  returned  almost  roughly.  "  Are 
we  not  told  somewhere  that  'Obedience  is  Heaven's 
first  law' — you  know  more  about  Heaven  than  I 
do," — this  was  unkind — "  I  only  know  that  it  is  cer- 
tainly a  wife's  first  duty  to  her  husband.  I  have 
told  you  to  let  this  subject  drop,  pray  do  so.  In 
your  calmer  moments  I  am  willing  to  explain  to  you 
fully,  in  your  present  mood  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to 
do  so." 

Gwendolen  resented  the  tone ;  it  seemed  to  add 
insult  to  injury.  To  dictate,  to  counsel,  to  argue,  these 
had  been  her  prerogatives.  Now  it  seemed  they  were 
to  be  his.  Their  previous  tiffs  had  been  bad  enough, 
but  this  was  a  more  serious  matter.  She  maintained 
a  stubborn  silence. 

Her  husband  turned  on  his  heel. 

"  This  interview  had  better  end,"  he  said  again. 

"Yes,"  she  said  sadly,  "I  agree  with  you.  And 
from  to-night  there  must  be  an  end  of  everything 
between  you  and  me.  In  my  own  heart  I  know 
that  I  am  nothing — can  be  nothing  to  ~you  any 
more." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  exclaimed  incredulously, 
arresting  his  steps. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  There  was  a  distant  look 
in  them.  Her  words  came  like  one  who  is  repeating  a 
lesson  learned  by  rote. 

"I  mean  that  from  to-night  we  are  husband  and 
wife  in  name  only.  You  and  I  must  part.  To  live 
with  you  would  be  to  condone  your  sin.  I  see  it 
all  now.  I  doubt  if  we  could  have  ever  been  really 
happy  together;  this  has  made  it  impossible.  We 
IPust  part," 


304  THE  GEEEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Part !  "  he  cried,  "  you  and  I — really,  Gwendolen — 
this  is  carrying  it  too  far — you  forget  your  duty  to  me 
— your  husband." 

"  I  have  a  higher  duty  still,"  she  said  solemnly — 
"  my  duty  towards  my  God." 

"  This  is  too  much,"  he  cried  angrily,  goaded  out  of 
all  patience  by  her  reproaches.  "  You  are  as  free  with 
the  name  of  the  Deity  as  the  German  Emperor.  I  will 
waste  words  with  you  no  longer.  You  are  unfor- 
giving, ungenerous,  unjust.  I  will  leave  you  to  come 
to  your  senses.  It  is  I  who  have  been  in  error. 
I  admit  it.  I  thought  you  loved  me  and  you  do  not, 
you  have  never  really  loved  me,  that  is  it.  Had  you 
done  so,  you  would  never  have  spoken  to  me  as  you 
have  done  to-night." 

So  saying,  he  turned  and  left  her.  .  .  . 

Not  love  him !  What  then  meant  those  streaming 
eyes — for  tears  had  come  to  her  relief  at  last — that 
gesture  of  abandonment,  with  which  she  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  before  the  bed — that  exceedingly  bitter 
cry  which  rose  to  her  lips — "  Oh  God,  help  me  to  do 
right — help  me  to  do  right !  " 

But  when  she  arose  from  her  knees  at  last,  a  light 
shone  in  her  eyes,  clear  and  strong.  It  was  the 
light,  which  shines  on  the  face  of  one  who  has  been 
through  a  fierce  conflict  and  has  come  out  the  victor ; 
of  one  who  has  resolved  on  a  definite  purpose,  who 
knows  no  change,  neither  shadow  of  turning. 

Meanwhile  Tyrconnel  had  gone  off  in  high  dudgeon. 
He  felt  hurt,  wounded,  angry,  all  the  more  so  because 
in  his  heart  there  was  a  lurking  consciousness  that  he 
was  in  the  wrong.  He  was  prepared  to  admit  it ;  he 
had  admitted  it — but  that  was  no  reason  why  his  wife 
should  exaggerate  the  offence  in  this  way,  refuse  to 
hear  his  explanation,  spurn  his  excuses,  speak  to  him 
as  though  he  were  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye. 

Once  more  the  sense  of  their  inherent  incompati- 
bility of  temperament  was  borne  in  upon  him.  How 
could  he  agree  with  a  woman  who  looked  at  every- 
thing in  such  an  uncompromising  light,  who  seemed 
incapable  of  understanding  the  weaknesses  and  errors 


FLIGHT.  305 

of  human  nature,  who  was  always  in  the  right,  never 
in  the  wrong,  who  was  as  pure  and  flawless  as  snow, 
and  as  cold.  Such  a  one  might  be  perfect  to  worship 
from  a  distance,  but  to  live  with — that  was  another 
thing.  To-day  she  had  shown  herself  hard,  unforgiv- 
ing— nay  more,  unjust.  He  would  leave  her  to  herself 
for  a  time,  and  meet  her  averted  looks  and  cold  words 
with  words  and  looks  as  distant  as  her  own.  He  had 
been  too  yielding  to  her — not  firm  enough,  that  was  it. 
She  must  learn  who  was  master. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  he  think  she  would  put  her 
threat  of  leaving  him  into  execution.  He  deemed  it 
mere  idle  words  uttered  by  an  unreasonable  woman,  in 
a  moment  of  anger.  He  had  not  forgotten  their  dis- 
pute about  Monte  Carlo.  To-morrow,  when  a  night 
had  brought  reflection  and  she  realized  that  he  meant 
to  be  firm,  she  would  probably  yield  him  that  obedi- 
ence which  she  had  hitherto  refused ;  if  not,  he  must 
make  the  lesson  harder.  He  had  quite  argued  himself 
into  believing  that  he  was  the  aggrieved  one  by  this 
time. 

Full  of  doughty  resolve,  he  dined  alone — or  rather 
he  made  a  feint  of  eating  his  dinner.  Hitherto  he  and 
Gwendolen  had  dined  together  in  their  private  rooms — 
to-night  he  went  down  to  the  public  dining-room  and 
sat  down  at  one  of  the  little  round  tables.  But  it  was 
dull  work  ;  he  could  not  eat,  he  felt  sick  at  heart.  He 
passed  most  of  the  dishes  untasted  and,  though  he 
drank  a  good  deal  of  wine,  it  did  not  seem  to  have 
much  effect  in  rousing  his  drooping  spirits.  So  after 
coffee  and  a  cigarette,  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  went  out 
for  a  stroll. 

He  walked  some  little  distance,  and  then  sat  down 
on  a  bench.  He  felt  strangely  fatigued  and  over- 
wrought, it  was  astonishing  how  little  tired  him  now. 
He  sat  there  a  long  time.  It  was  an  unwise  thing  to 
do,  for  the  night  was  chilly  and  he  had  no  overcoat — 
his  cough  was  very  troublesome.  But  no  one  cared, 
he  thought  to  himself  bitterly. 

Was  this  the  perfect  happiness  he  had  dreamed  of 
— hungered  after — thirsted  for?    Gwendolen  was  his 
wife ;  he  had  attained  his  soul's  desire  only  to  find,  as 
20 


306  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

so  many  have  found  before,  that,  like  Dead-Sea  apples, 
the  fruit  of  his  longing  had  turned  to  ashes  on  his  lips. 
This  was — marriage. 

The  wind  was  cold,  he  shivered  and  buttoned  his 
coat  around  him.  Yet  the  wind  bore  on  its  breath 
the  scent  of  orange-flowers  and  violets  from  the  villa 
gardens  hard  by,  and  somehow  or  other  the  fragrance 
reminded  him  of  Gwendolen — of  Gwendolen  as  he 
had  known  her  in  the  first  hours  of  their  married 
life — as  he  had  known  her  again  yesterday — known 
her  but  that  morning — soft,  gentle,  yielding,  basking 
in  the  sunshine  of  his  smiles,  full  of  love  and  caressing 
words.  A  sudden  revulsion  swept  over  him,  the  love 
within  him  stirred  again.  Poor  Gwendolen !  He  had 
been  too  hard  on  her  perhaps,  he  had  not  made  suf- 
ficient allowance  for  her  in  the  first  shock  of  this  revela- 
tion. He  could  not  realize  how  a  pure  and  innocent 
nature  such  as  hers  would  recoil  from  the  contact 
with  evil.  Poor  Gwendolen!  What  was  she  doing 
now,  he  wondered?  Was  she  as  miserable  and  as 
lonely  as  he?  He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it 
by  the  light  of  a  match.  Nearly  ten  o'clock !  This 
was  about  the  time  she  was  wont  to  sing  to  him. 
....  When  the  singing  was  over,  she  would 
come  and  sit  on  a  low  stool  at  his  feet,  and  lean  her 
head  against  his  knees — and  they  would  talk  together 
in  the  dim  light,  of  all  their  hopes  and  plans  in  the 
new  life  which  lay  before  them  ....  A  great  rush 
of  shame  and  compunction  swept  over  him,  as  his 
thoughts  dwelt  thus.  His  was  all  the  blame,  all  the 
wrong.  All  thought  of  resentment  and  of  domination 
passed  away.  He  would  go  to  her — go  as  a  suppliant 
and  tell  her  he  was  sorry  for  what  had  passed,  and  she 
— she  would  forgive  him,  and  they  would  be  happy 
once  more. 

Full  of  this  new-born  desire,  he  arose  and  walked 
quickly  back  to  the  hotel.  He  sprang  up  the  stairs, 
three  at  a  time.  There  was  no  one  in  the  sitting- 
room.  But  the  lamps  were  lighted,  the  coffee-tray 
was  arranged  on  a  little  table  by  Gwendolen's  chair, 
and  by  its  side  was  a  folded  Galignani.  On  a  chair 
were  two  or  three  unopened  parcels,  the  fruits  of 


THE  BE  WARD  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS.  307 

their  morning's  shopping  ....  There  were  too 
many  flowers  in  the  room,  their  odor  seemed  to 
stifle  him  ....  He  crossed  over  quickly  to  the  door 
of  Gwendolen's  room  and  knocked.  No  answer  came. 

He  knocked  again. 

"  Gwendolen,"  he  said,  "  Gwendolen  !  It  is  I — your 
husband." 

There  was  no  reply,  neither  was  there  any  sound  nor 
movement.  An  indefinable  dread  stole  over  Tyrconnel. 
What  was  the  matter?  Was  she  still  angry  with 
him  ?— WTas  she  ill  ?— Was— ah  God !  not  that ! 

He  burst  open  the  door  and  entered.  His  suspicion 
deepened  to  a  certainty.  No  one  was  there.  The  room 
was  in  a  state  of  confusion,  drawers  were  pulled  open, 
clothes  scattered  here  and  there — on  the  dressing-table 
lay,  in  a  heap,  the  rings  and  jewels  and  trinkets  he 
had  given  her. 

As  his  eyes  fell  upon  them,  the  truth  flashed  over 
him  ;  he  staggered  backAvard  with  a  groan. 

Gwendolen  had  gone. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    REWARD    OF     THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

Be  not  righteous  overmuch. — ECCLESIASTES. 

THE  8.30  p.  M.  train  from  Liverpool  Street  steamed 
into  the  Cambridge  station  one  wet  gusty  night. 
Among  the  passengers  which  it  deposited  was  a  sad, 
weary-looking  woman. 

It  was  Gwendolen.  One  would  hardly  have  known 
her,  as  she  stood  on  the  cheerless  platform  looking 
after  the  red  lights  of  the  departing  train,  so  changed 
was  she.  How  altered  that  once  happy  face  with  its 
wild-rose  bloom  !  How  different  that  bowed,  saddened 
woman  from  the  smiling,  blushing  bride  who  had  left 
this  spot  only  a  month  or  so  ago ! 


308  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

Now  her  eyelids  were  swollen  with  weeping,  her 
cheeks  were  colorless,  her  eyes  lacked  lustre.  She 
was  faint  from  lack  of  food,  her  limbs  ached  with 
fatigue,  her  head  was  dizzy  from  the  rush  and 
rattle  of  her  ceaseless  journey.  As  she  stood  there, 
a  great  rush  of  self-pity  swept  over  her.  This  then 
was  the  end  of  her  honeymoon,  this  her  return  home ! 

"  Any  luggage,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  a  porter,  touching 
his  cap  to  the  solitary  figure  standing  beneath  the 
nickering  gas-light. 

Gwendolen  started  from  her  reverie  and  pointed  to 
her  one  small  trunk — all  that  she  had  brought  with 
her  from  the  far-off  southern  land.  Alas !  how  very 
far  off  it  seemed  to  her  now.  She  shivered  slightly 
and  gathered  her  mantle  closer  around  her.  Every- 
thing looked  bare,  cheerless,  desolate,  like  her  own 
wrecked  life.  All  the  warmth  and  sunshine  she  had 
left  behind  her  in  that  land  of  love  and  flowers.  Here 
there  was  nothing  but  mist  and  driving  rain. 

The  porter  shouldered  her  box  and  she  followed  him 
to  the  cab — an  old  musty  four-wheeler,  the  only  one 
available  this  rough  night. 

Not  until  the  door  was  shut  and  she  was  being 
rattled  along  the  road  towards  Newnham,  did  she 
realize  what  it  was  that  she  had  done.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  headlong  flight  a  faint  shadow  of  doubt 
— not  as  to  the  course  she  had  adopted,  but  as  to 
the  reception  she  would  meet  with — crossed  her  mind. 
Hitherto  the  bitter  sense  of  injury,  the  need  of  having 
her  wits  about  her,  the  very  excitement  of  the  journey 
had  kept  her  up.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  her 
that  journey  across  Europe — to  her  who  had  never 
been  allowed  to  travel  alone  even  from  Cambridge  to 
London  before.  How  she  accomplished  the  journey 
she  hardly  knew.  Looking  back  it  seemed  like  some 
evil  dream. 

The  moment  her  husband  had  left  her  she  had 
begun  to  act  upon  her  suddenly -formed  resolution. 
She  hastily  packed  the  few  things  she  needed  most  in 
one  of  the  smallest  of  her  trunks.  Then  she  rang  the 
bell,  ordered  a  fly  and  drove  to  the  station.  The  hotel- 
keeper  was  somewhat  surprised,  but  he  had  lived  too 


THE  REWARD  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS.  309 

long  in  the  neighborhood  of  Monte  Carlo  to  be  very 
much  astonished  at  the  eccentricities  of  womankind. 
Madame  was  departing?  N^importe.  Monsieur  re- 
mained, and  he  would  pay  the  bill.  So  he  bowed 
Gwendolen  down  the  steps  with  an  impassive  counte- 
nance, and  sent  the  hall-porter  with  her  to  the  station 
to  take  her  ticket,  explain  her  route,  and  see  her  off. 

Gwendolen  travelled  night  and  day.  How  the  time 
passed  she  could  not  tell,  she  scarcely  had  any  con- 
sciousness of  her  surroundings. 

Now  the  journey  was  accomplished.  But  the  worst 
was  to  come :  the  servant's  scarce-concealed  surprise, 
her  aunt's  shrill  anger,  and  later  on  the  world's  sneers. 
All  would  have  to  be  faced.  Gwendolen's  heart  sank 
within  her.  In  the  first  moment  of  her  passionate  in- 
dignation, when  she  threw  the  gauntlet  down  at  her 
husband's  feet,  she  had  told  him — and  told  him 
truly — that  she  cared  nothing  for  the  world.  Brave 
words  indeed!  But  it  is  one  thing  to  despise  the 
conventions,  another  to  set  them  at  defiance.  And  so 
Gwendolen  was  to  find  it. 

But  her  purpose  never  swerved,  her  courage  never 
really  faltered.  It  is  impossible  for  a  worldling  to 
understand  the  light  in  which  this  young  girl,  with 
her  narrow  views,  her  child-like  faith,  her  Christ-like 
ideas,  her  passionless  purity,  viewed  her  husband's 
wrong-doing.  There  was  the  deceit  practised  on  her, 
the  wrong  done — as  she  "believed — to  a  confiding 
girl,  and  most  of  all  there  was  his  fall  from  purity. 
In  this  first  horrible  surprise,  this  sudden  darkening 
of  the  dream  of  her  young  life,  this  clouding  over 
of  every  hope,  she  felt  she  could  not  live  with  him. 
And  yet  she  loved  him !  But  she  thrust  away  that 
love  as  sin — as  an  unholy  thing.  If  she  were  to 
remain  under  the  same  roof  with  him,  see  his  face, 
hear  his  voice,  she  knew  that  her  weakness  would 
conquer  her,  that  she  would  condone  his  fall  and  in 
condoning  it  forget  what  she  believed  to  be  the 
higher  instincts  of  her  nature  and  become  a  partaker 
of  his  sin. — No,  her  only  safety  lay  in  flight,  if  she 
remained  with  him,  her  good  resolutions  would  falter, 
her  individuality  would  become  merged  in  his. 


310  THE  GREEN  BAY  TEE 3. 

In  the  wild  desire  to  be  away  from  him — in  the 
shock  of  her  shattered  ideal,  whither  should  she  flee 
but  to  the  home  which  had  sheltered  her,  to  the  father 
who  loved  her?  As  she  thought  of  him,  the  fear  of 
her  aunt's  anger,  the  dread  of  the  world's  scorn  faded 
away.  A  sense  of  great  comfort  stole  over  her.  Her 
father!  Never  until  now  had  the  full  sense  of  his 
protection,  his  love,  his  unwearying  patience  been  borne 
in  upon  her.  He  had  been  ignored  and  set  aside.  But 
now  in  her  anguish  she  turned  naturally  to  him,  the 
author  of  her  being,  the  one  who  most  loved  her.  He 
would  shelter  her,  and  would  shield  her  from  the 
world's  cheap  sneers  ;  his  love  would  make  the  stony 
way  less  rough,  the  upward  path  less  thorny  to  her 
bleeding  feet.  Oh !  How  she  longed  to  weep  out  her 
sorrows  on  his  breast. 

Every  moment  brought  her  nearer  to  him.  The  cab 
jolted  down  Mill  Lane  and  over  the  bridge,  the  rain 
beating  against  the  panes.  They  were  under  the  great 
elms  now,  on  the  Backs.  She  pressed  her  face  against 
the  glass,  but  she  could  see  little.  Now  they  had 
turned  in  at  the  gate.  She  was  at  home. 

Gwendolen  got  out  and  put  her  hand  on  the  bell. 
She  faltered  a  moment,  uncertain,  and  looked  up  at 
the  darkened  house.  How  still  everything  was,  how 
desolate.  The  house  was  all  in  darkness,  save  where 
a  light  burned  dimly  in  an  upper  room.  ...  it  was 

her  father's  room A  strange  eerie  feeling  crept 

over  her.  She  pulled  the  bell  sharply.  No  one  an- 
swered. "What  a  long  time  they  were  in  coming  to  be 
sure !  She  pulled  again — Ah  !  here  was  some  one  com- 
ing at  last 

Why  did  the  man  look  at  her  with  that  scared  face? 
What  was  the  vague,  undefinable  something  which 
hung  over  all.  A  chill  struck  Gwendolen's  heart. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  asked  hurriedly. 
"Where  is  your  master?  I  wish  to  see  him  at 
once." 

"  Oh !  Lor',  ma'am,"  said  the  servant,  scared  out  of 
his  senses  at  this  unexpected  apparition,  and  blurting 
out  the  truth  with  brutal  suddenness.  "Don't  you 
know  ?  Haven't  you  heard  ?  Master's  dead ! " 


THE  REWARD  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS.  311 

"  Dead ! "  gasped  Gwendolen  with  whitened  lips, 
falling  back  against  the  wall. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  the  servant  garrulously, 
with  that  air  of  ghoulish  relish,  with  which  servants 
always  like  to  impart  bad  news — "  he  died  this  after- 
ternoon,  about  four  o'clock,  all  of  a  sudden  like.  He 
had  a  telegram  to  say  as  'ow  he  had  lost  all  his  money  " 
— (The  man  had  taken  advantage  of  the  general  confu- 
sion to  read  it)  "  and  it  took  his  heart,  which  has  been 
affected  a  long  time,  the  doctor  says.  Mrs.  Miles  " — 
he  forgot  the  de  Courcy  in  his  haste) — "  is  mortal  bad 
too, — high  sterics, — something  awful.  She've  bin  go- 
ing from  one  fit  to  another,  it's  as  much  as  me  and 
Jane  could  do  to  'old  her  down.  There  now,  ma'am, 
don't  take  on  so,"  he  added  soothingly,  moved  to  com- 
passion by  the  sight  of  the  anguish  on  that  pale,  drawn 
face. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Take  me  to  him,"  gasped  Gwendo- 
len, rallying  herself  with  an  effort. 

The  servant  led  the  way  silently.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  intensity  of  her  sorrow,  which  checked 
even  his  garrulity.  In  the  chamber  Death's  grim  satel- 
lites had  done  their  dread  work ;  all  was  quiet  and 
peaceful  now. 

With  one  glance  at  the  sheeted  outline,  Gwendolen 
threw  herself  down  upon  the  bed,  with  an  exceeding 
bitter  cry. 

This  was  her  welcome  home. 


"  I  never  heard  such  nonsense — never !  "  cried  Mrs. 
de  Courcy  Miles,  regarding  her  niece  with  indignant 
eyes. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  study  together  about  a 
week  after  the  Professor's  death.  It  was  a  cheerless 
February  afternoon.  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  had 
ensconced  herself  in  the  Professorial  chair — it  was  the 
most  comfortable  one  in  the  room — and  had  drawn  it 
up  close  to  the  blazing  fire.  So  that  in  a  sense  she 
might  be  said  to  speak  ex  cathedra. 

Gwendolen  gave   a  little  weary  sigh  as  her  aunt's 


812  THE  GREEN  KAY  TREE. 

ejaculation  fell  upon  her  ears.  She  had  heard  it  at 
least  fifty  times  before  in  the  course  of  the  last  few 
days.  (Mrs.  Miles  was  a  past-rnistress  in  the  art  of 
"  nagging.")  Then  she  went  on  with  her  task  again. 
It  was  a  sad  task  that  she  was  engaged  upon.  She 
was  looking  through  her  dead  father's  private  letters 
and  papers — those  sort  of  things  which  men  are  wont 
to  hide  away  from  every  human  eye,  which  they  hardly 
ever  look  at  themselves,  but  still  keep  by  them — stray 
links  in  the  chain  of  memory — sacred  relics  of  the  past. 
She  came  across  many  things — love-letters  of  her 
mother's,  the  ink  dim  and  faded  now,  a  lock  of  sunny 
brown  hair,  a  faded  photograph  of  a  child — herself. 
This  last  proof  of  her  dead  father's  love  was  too  much 
for  Gwendolen.  She  bowed  her  head,  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

Mrs.  Miles  watched  her  narrowly  over  the  top  of  her 
Court  Journal,  which  did  duty  as  a  fire-screen.  Tak- 
ing her  niece's  emotion  to  be  a  sign  of  weakness  she 
renewed  the  attack. 

"And  people  are  beginning  to  talk  already,"  she 
continued.  "  Only  yesterday  the  Master  of  St.  Brid- 
get's asked  me  where  your  husband  was  and  I  had  to 
trump  up  some  excuse.  I  said  that  his  lungs  were  too 
delicate  for  him  to  leave  the  Riviera — and  Belinda  and 
Araminta  both  suspect  there's  something  wrong.  I 
am  sure  they  do  by  the  way  they  asked  me  about  you 
yesterday, — I  know  that  twinkle  in  Belinda's  eye  ;  and 
once  let  them  get  hold  of  the  story  it  will  be  all  over 
the  place.  A  pretty  tale  indeed  for  them  to  gossip 
about !  A  wife  of  a  month — and  separated  from  her 
husband!  Not  that  jTcare  what  they  say,  for  I  shall 
soon  be  away  from  the  whole  lot — thank  goodness  ! — 
but  you,  you  ought  to  have  proper  respect  for  yourself, 
Gwendolen,  and  for  your  family.  Think  how  angry 
Lord  Baltinglass  must  be,  and  just  now  too  when  his 
help  would  be  so  valuable  to  us.  Not  one  of  the  Bal- 
tinglass family  at  the  funeral.  No  wonder  people 
smell  a  rat Do  you  hear  what  T  say,  Gwen- 
dolen?" queried  Mrs.  Miles  sharply  with  startling 
suddenness.  "  Why  don't  you  answer  me  and  not  sit 
there  like  a  wooden  image  ?  " 


THE  REWARD  OF  TlIE  RIGHTEOUS.  313 

"  I  hear,"  replied  Gwendolen  in  a  low  voice  without 
raising  her  head.  (It  would  have  been  strange  if  she 
didn't,  for  Mrs.  Miles  was  apt  to  become  crescendo  when 
excited.)  "I  have  nothing  to  add  to  what  I  have  told 
you  before.  What  you  say  about  people  talking  makes 
no  difference  to  me, — none." 

"  Then  it  ought  to  do  so,"  retorted  Mrs.  Miles,  in- 
censed at  this  new  proof  of  Gwendolen's  obstinacy. 

Suddenly  she  changed  her  manner ;  it  might  not  be 
wise  to  press  her  niece  too  hard.  So  she  adopted  a 
high  moral  tone  which  sat  upon  her  oddly,  like  a 
youthful  make-up  on  a  withered  face. 

"  You  are  doing  a  very  wrong  and  wicked  thing, 
Gwendolen,"  she  said.  "  A  wife's  first  duty  is  to  her 
husband.  After  all  my  careful  training,  you  ought  to 
remember  that,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  has  a  husband  no  duty  towards  his  wife  ? " 
asked  Gwendolen  with  a  faint  ring  of  scorn  in  her  voice. 

"Certainly  he  has,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Miles  briskly. 
"  He  should  pay  her  bills  and  give  her  a  liberal  allow- 
ance, and  he  should — there  are  many  things  he  should 
do.  And  I  am  sure  your  husband,  if  only  managed 
properly,  would  be  the  most  generous  of  men.  I  wish 
/  had  him  for  a  week,"  said  Mrs.  Miles  sagely. 

"  He  has  wronged  an  innocent  girl  and  deceived 
me,"  said  Gwendolen  in  a  dull  flat  voice,  as  though 
repeating  a  formula  learned  by  rote.  She  had  indeed 
whispered  it  to  her  truant  heart  many  times  these  last 
few  days. 

'.'  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miles,  "  I 
haven't  common  patience  to  listen  to  you.  Innocent 
girl,  forsooth !  Some  designing  cat  or  other,  I  have 
no  doubt.  I  dare  say  the  creature  feathered  her  nest 
well.  I  know  the  bold-faced  hussies ;  I  have  seen  them 
skipping  about  with  Paris-made  gowns,  and  diamonds 
big  enough  to  make  an  honest  woman  turn  green  with 
envy.  Where  do  they  get  them  from  I  should  like  to 
know,  if  it  isn't  from  our  husbands  and  our  lovers  ? 

They  never  give  us  such  diamonds As  to  his 

deceiving  you,  why,  if  women  were  to  demand  a  certif- 
icate of  strict  morality  from  the  men  they  marry,  they 
would  never  get  husbands  at  all." 


314  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  Men  expect  it  from  their  wives,  or  from  the  women 
who  are  to  be  their  wives,"  replied  Gwendolen,  harping 
on  her  old  theme. 

"  It  is  not  the  same  thing — quite  different.  I  never 
heard  such  sentiments.  They  are  absolutely  indecent. 
Wherever  yon  could  have  picked  up  such  ideas  from  I 
don't  know,  not  from  me — that  I  am  sure  of.  I  always 
told  poor  dear  James  he  ought  to  have  kept  a  tighter 
hand  over  yon, — allowing  you  to  read  whatever  you 
liked  and  running  to  church  all  day  and  every  day. 
This  is  what  it  has  all  come  to,"  declared  Mrs.  Miles, 
fanning  herself  vigorously  with  the  Court  Journal. 

"  I  need  no  Church  to  tell  me  what  is  right,"  said 
Gwendolen,  looking  at  her  aunt  with  a  steady  gaze. 
She  looked  very  pale  in  her  deep  mourning  dress.  "  I 
have  followed  the  dictates  of  my  own  conscience  and 
the  sure  guide  of  the  Gospel." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  against  religion," 
Mrs.  Miles  rambled  on,  apparently  addressing  a  distant 
chair.  "  I  am  a  religious  woman  myself,  I  hope, — all 
respectable  women  are  religious, — and  as  for  the 
Gospel,  I  dare  say  it  was  quite  suited  to  Jews  and  Gen- 
tiles and  " — vaguely — "  all  those  semi-barbarous  heath- 
en creatures,  who  lived  such  a  long  time  ago.  But 
it  is  hardly  suitable  for  Society  in  the  present  day,  in 
a  literal  sense,  I  mean." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Gwendolen  with  a  sigh. 

Then  she  went  on  sorting  her  letters.  There  was  a 
little  pause,  but  it  was  only  the  lull  before  the  storm. 

"  I  can't  think  what  your  husband  is  about  to  let 
you  go  on  lilce  this,"  continued  Mrs.  Miles  presently 
in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  Hasn't  he  written  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gwendolen,  and  she  set  her  trembling 
lips.  "  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him.  I  expect  to 
hear  nothing  from  him.  Were  he  to  write  to  me,  I 
should  return  his  letters  unopened.  T  told  him  when 
wTe  parted  that  everything  must  be  over  between  us, 
and  he  has  taken  me  at  my  word." 

Brave  words  these ;  but  no  one  knew  save  herself 
the  awful  desolation  in  her  heart,  the  eager  longing 
for  news  of  him,  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  quell. 

Mrs.  Miles  gave  a  contemptuous  sniff. 


THE  REWARD  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS.  315 

"  What  a  poor  weak-minded  creature  he  must  be," 
she  exclaimed,  "  to  take  a  woman  at  her  word  !  And 
I  thought  he  was  so  fond  of  you !  If  I  were  your 
husband,  I'd  make  you  come  back  sharp  enough,  I 
warrant  you." 

"  Would  you  force  me  to  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  a  man  who  has  led  an  immoral  life?" 

"Was  there  ever  such  an  argumentative,  obstinate 
creature?"  cried  her  aunt,  apostrophizing  the  ceiling. 
"  I  can't  think  where  you  get  your  obstinacy  from, 
I  am  sure.  Xot  from  our  side  of  the  family.  Poor 
dear  James  was  always  amenable  enough,  I  will  say 
that  of  him.  What  you  expect  of  a  husband  I  don't 
know.  You  ought  to  go  to  India  for  a  time,  that 
would  enlarge  your  ideas.  Or  you  can  look  nearer 
home.  Look  at  the  Duchess  of  Puffeballe,  for  instance. 
How  well  she  bears  it,  and  every  one  knows  that  the 
Duke  has  a-  perfect  harem  stowed  away  somewhere. 
That  dear  Creeper-Crawley  told  me  so.  But  the 
Duchess  doesn't  know,  or  rather  she  pretends  she 
doesn't  know.  And  quite  right  too — a  woman  ought 
to  stick  to  her  husband,  even  if  he  were  a  regular 
Henry  the  Eighth." 

To  this  diatribe  Gwendolen  made  no  reply.  She 
had  said  too  much  already.  To  answer  was  to  add 
fuel  to  the  flame. 

Mrs.  Miles  regarded  her  with  compressed  lips.  The 
situation  was  becoming  alarming,  the  girl  must  be 
brought  to  reason  somehow. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  good  enough  to  inform 
me,"  she  said  with  crushing  civility,  "  in  the  event 
of  this  separate  establishment,  what  allowance  your 
husband  proposes  to  give  you  to  maintain  it  with? 
As  he  apparently  consents  to  the  ridiculous  arrange- 
ment, I  hope  it  is  a  good  one.  It  was  a  great 
mistake  that  there  were  no  settlements.  I  told  poor 
dear  James  so  at  the  time,  but  he  was  always  so 
unbusiness-like — as  events  have  proved — and  Lord 
Baltinglass  seemed  disposed  to  be  so  generous  that  I 
didn't  like  to  press  it." 

Gwendolen  started  as  if  stung,  a  deep  flush  over- 
spread her  face. 


816  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

"  He  makes  me  no  allowance,"  she  cried.  "  T  would 
not  touch  his  money — not  one  penny — it  would  burn 
me.  I  would  rather  starve." 

"  And  starve  you  will,  and  serve  you  right  too," 
said  Mrs.  Miles  brutally.  Mrs.  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  plus 
a  handsome  allowance,  even  if  separated  from  her 
husband,  might  have  been  worth  conciliating ;  Mrs. 
Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  penniless  and  at  hopeless  issue 
with  the  Baltinglass  family  certainly  was  not.  "  How 
do  you  propose  to  live?"  she  went  on  shrilly.  "You 
know  your  father  has  died  without  a  sixpence — 
bankrupt  almost — I  shall  be  surprised  if  there  is 
enough  to  pay  the  creditors.  We  are  only  in  the 
house  on  sufferance ;  I  wonder  the  bailiffs  are  not  in 
it  at  the  present  moment.  It  was  shameful  of  James, 
that  it  was,  to  go  and  speculate  all  his  money  away 
like  this,  and  not  leave  anything  for  me,  not  even 
the  plate — I  who  have  kept  his  house  all  these  years, 
and  made  such  sacrifices  for  him  too.  And  I  pleaded 
with  him — I  did  everything  in  my  power  to  dissuade 
him  from  trusting  that  Coryton  creature,  who  is 
now  living-  on  the  fat  of  the  land  with  our  money. 
But  he  would  not  listen,  the  obstinate  mule !  And 
now  I  am  left  like  this.  Oh  !  it  is  shameful,  shame- 
ful!" 

Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles  abandoned  the  Court  Journal 
for  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  sought  refuge  in  tears. 

Gwendolen  bent  her  head  still  lower.  Alas !  It 
was  all  true.  Her  poor  father  !  He  had  been  duped, 
deceived,  ruined.  She  was  penniless,  and  the  man 
who  had  done  all  this  was  her  husband's  own  familiar 
friend.  Then  a  sense  of  the  injustice  done  to  the  dead 
by  her  aunt's  coarse  words  struck  her. 

"  How  can  you  speak  so,  Aunt  ? "  she  said  indig- 
nantly. "You  know  that  it  was  you  who  advised 
poor  father  to  entrust  his  money  to  Mr.  Coiyton.  I 
heard  you  urge  him  to  do  so  myself." 

"  You  heard  nothing  of  the  kind,"  cried  Mrs.  Miles, 
now  thoroughly  roused.  "  It  is  a  monstrous  fabrica- 
tion. But  there,  it  is  only  what  I  might  expect. 
Like  father,  like  daughter — nothing  but  ingratitude. 
How  do  you  propose  to  live,  I  should  like  to  know. 


THE  HEWAIW  OF  THE  IUGUTEOUS.  317 

You  are  much  mistaken  if  you  think  you  are  going 
to  palm  yourself  off  upon  me.  I  have  quite 
enough  to  do  to  keep  myself — it's  little  enough  I 
have,  only  the  pension  of  a  colonel's  widow.  What 
a  mercy  your  father  couldn't  get  hold  of  that,  or  he 
would  have  squandered  my  little  all  too.  No — carry 
out  your  absurd  ideas  and  I  wash  my  hands  of  you 
once  and  for  all.  Not  one  sixpence  will  you  get 
from  me.  Again  I  ask,  how  do  you  propose  to 
live?" 

"  I  shall  work,"  said  Gwendolen,  apparently  unmoved 
by  her  aunt's  wrath,  "  as  many  others  have  done  before 
me ;  my  wants  are  few." 

She  spoke  with  the  quiet  confidence  of  one  who  has 
never  known  what  it  is  to  want — never  known  what 
it  is  to  work  for  a  living — to  seek  work  and  not  to  find 
it. 

"  Work !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Miles  with  a  scoffing  laugh, 
jumping  up  suddenly  from  her  chair.  "  What  will 
you  work  at,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  What  are  you 
fitted  for?  An  underpaid  governess,  a  lady-help,  or 
perhaps  you'll  take  in  plain  sewing — like  enough  you 
won't  even  get  that.  People  are  not  so  fond  of 
employing  women  who  are  separated  from  their 
husbands,  I  can  tell  you.  It  doesn't  matter  who's  in 
the  wrong,  it  is  always  the  woman  who  gets  blamed, 
and  so  you'll  soon  find  out.  The  future  Lady  JBaltin- 
glass  and  plain  sewing — it  is  the  most  ridiculous  thing 
I  have  ever  heard  of.  If  it  gets  into  the  Radical 
papers,  it'll  be  enough  to  upset  the  House  of  Lords, 
that  it  will." 

She  paused  a  moment,  breathless,  glaring  at  her 
niece.  Gwendolen  again  took  refuge  in  silence. 

"I  wash  my  hands  of  you,"  cried  Mrs.  Miles, 
retreating  towards  the  door.  "  I  shall  denounce  you 
to  Lord  Baltinglass.  I  shall  leave  this  horrid  Cam- 
bridge to-morrow  and  go  back  to  Kensington — dear 
Kensington,  how  I  wish  I  had  never  left  it ! "  Then, 
with  startling  inconsistency  and  a  threatening  of 
hysterics — "  You  ungrateful  creature,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  instead  of  being  hounded  out  of  the 
house  like  this  I  might  be  living  in  luxury  at  Blarney. 


318  THE  G HE EN  BAY  TREE. 

Never  shall  I  forgive  you,  never !  I  wish,  oh !  how 
I  wish  your  husband  may  drag  you  back  to  him  by 
the  hair  of  your  head!  " 

And  with  this  Parthian  dart  Mrs.  .Miles  whisked  out 
of  the  room,  and  slammed  the  door  after  her. 

A  few  days  later  Gwendolen  left  Cambridge. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    SPROUTING    OF    THE    BAY    TREE. 

Ce  sont  surtout  les  commencements  qui  sont  charmants. — LA 
ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

"  You  see  we  are  so  very  poor,"  said  Violet. 

"  You  don't  look  it,"  rejoined  Theodora  bluntly,  as 
she  helped  herself  to  another  glass  of  claret. 

They  were  sitting  at  lunch  together  in  the  well- 
appointed  dining-room  of  the  Coryton's  nutshell 
establishment  in  Curzon  Street.  It  was  a  pretty  little 
room,  pretty  like  everything  else  in  this  pretty  little 
house.  It  had  a  dado  of  olive  green  running  around  the 
walls,  a  Smyrna  carpet,  tapestry  curtains,  hand- 
somely carved  furniture  of  unpolished  oak,  half  a 
dozen  good  pictures  on  the  walls,  three  or  four  vases 
of  Oriental  ware  on  the  mantelshelf,  and  the  table  with 
its  white  damask,  silver,  and  bright-hued  flowers 
setting  off  an  excellent  lunch.  Everything  betokened 
comfort,  refinement,  even  luxury.  But  poverty  ? — 
No.  Theodora  was  right.  If  appearances  were  to  be 
trusted,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coryton  Avere  flourishing  like 
the  Green  Bay  Tree. 

Violet  manufactured  a  little  sigh.  It  was  her 
policy  just  now  to  pose  as  poor  with  her  rich  friends. 
People  expected  so  much  less  of  one.  Besides 
every  one  was  "  poor  "  now.  It  was  much  better  form. 

"  Poverty  is  a  relative  thing,"  she  answered  sweetly. 
"  Of  course  Poley  and  I  have  enough  to  rub  along  with 


77717  SPEOUTISG  OF  THE  BAY  TREE.          319 

iii  a  Darby  and  Joan  sort  of  manner.  But  if  Lord 
Southwark  were  not  defraying  Poley's  election  ex- 
penses, I  really  do  not  know  how  we  should  have 
managed  them.  Of  course  we  would  do  anything  for 
the  Cause,  make  any  sacrifice,  but  West-South wark  is 
such  an  expensive  constituency  to  contest.  We  are  so 
very  grateful  to  Lord  Southwark." 

She  said  this  with  honeyed  sweetness,  hoping  it 
would  find  its  way  round  to  the  right  quarter  through 
the  medium  of  Theodora. 

"  You  needn't  be  then,"  said  that  young  lady  with 
characteristic  frankness,  "Lord  South wark's  not  the 
man  to  do  anything  without  an  object.  He's  only 
poppin'  your  husband  in  to  keep  the  seat  warm  for 
Pimlico.  He'll  have  to  turn  out  when  Pirn's  ready  for 
it, — don't  cher  know  ?  " 

"Oh!  of  course,"  echoed  Violet,  with  an  inscru- 
table little  smile.  "  We  quite  understand  that.  Still, 
I  repeat,  it  is  very,  very  good  of  Lord  Southwark,  to 
have  put  Poley  forward." 

"  Well  I  s'pose  he  could  have  run  some  one  else," 
said  Theodora  with  engaging  candor.  "There's 
Creeper-Crawley  for  instance,  he's  a  useful  person,  or 
that  man  we  met  at  Blarney  you  remember,  Wriggles- 
worth,  was  his  name,  wasn't  it,  the  man  with  a  bald  head 
and  a  mustache  like  a  dilapidated  tooth-brush.  He's  a 
protege  of  Sir  Alway  and  Lady  Sumtyme  Typsey,  isn't 
he?  You  know  whom  I  mean.  By  the  way,  talking 
about  Blarney,  do  you  ever  hear  anything  of  Wilfrid 
Tyrconnel  or  his  wife  by  any  chance?" 

"  Never,"  answered  Violet  with  a  little  pout  and  a 
shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

"  That's  curious,"  said  Theodora  reflectively.  "  You 
used  to  be  such  pals,  don't  cher  know.  Poor  Wilfrid ! 
I'm  sorry  for  him.  Somebody  told  me, — Lauder 
Forbes  I  think, — that  he  was  drivin'  a  hansom,  or 
somethin'.  If  so,  I'm  sorry  for  his  fares,  for  Pigeon 
was  never  much  of  a  whip.  I  wonder  what's  become 
of  his  wife  too.  She's  livin'  apart  from  him,  I'm  told — 
governessin'  or  somethin'.  I  wonder  how  long  they'll 
keep  it  up.  It's  a  great  mistake  to  go  on  quarrellin' 
with  your  bread  and  butter." 


3'20  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

So  saying,  Theodora  helped  herself  to  a  slice  of  rein- 
deer tongue  "  just  to  top  up  with,"  as  she  phrased  it. 
She  had  a  good  healthy  appetite  and  was  not  ashamed 
of  it ;  there  was  nothing  of  the  Lydia  Languish  about 
Theodora. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  row  was  about  between  them," 
she  went  on  presently,  pushing  her  plate  aside  with  an 
air  of  satisfaction. 

"I  really  do  not  know,"  replied  Violet  wearily.  "I 
only  know  that  poor  Lord  Baltinglass  has  been  very 
angry  about  it.  He  has  been  abroad  ever  since  March. 
It  was  a 'most  unsuitable  marriage.  Poley  did  every- 
thing he  could  to  prevent  it.  She  was  an  utterly  im- 
practicable person  and  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  was  always 
very  wild.  Xo\v  that  Poley's  restraining  influence  is 
gone,  I  am  afraid  he  has  gone  from  bad  to  worse. 
Why,  if  you  believe  me,  he  has  even  quarrelled  with 
Poley,  his  best  friend,  who  sacrificed  so  much  for  him. 
I  don't  wonder  at  Lord  Baltinglass  being  angry " 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  Theodora. 

"But  do  not  let  us  talk  about  them,"  continued 
Violet,  not  quite  understanding  this  oracular  utterance, 
"  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Theodora.  (One  cannot 
waste  too  much  time  over  unfortunate  friends  in 
Vanity  Fair).  "  You  haven't  got  such  a  thing  about 
you  as  a  cigarette,  have  you.  Thanks.  Got  a  light. 

Thanks  awfully Well,  what  shall  we  talk  about, 

the  West- South wark  Election?  I  s'pose  that's  what 
you  wanted  me  to  come  to  lunch  for,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Well,  of  course  I  should  like  to  know  what  you 
think  my  husband's  chances  are,"  said  Violet,  a  little 
taken  abaQk  at  this  plainness  of  speech.  "  You  see," 
she  went  on  winningly,  "you  know  so  much  about 
politics." 

"I  know  a  good  deal  about  West- South  wark.  I 
should  be  a  fool  if  I  didn't,  considering  I've  been 
workin'  up  a  Habitation  of  the  Primrose  League  there, 
ever  since  that  affair  of  Loose-Fyshe's  first  came  out. 
Oh  we  shall  run  our  man  in,  not  a  doubt  of  it.  Fyshe 
refuses  to  retire  for  any  other  Liberal  Candidate,  and 
the  Nonconformist  '  conscience,'  as  they  call  it,  is  dead 


THE  SPROUTING  OF  THE  BAY  TREE.          321 

against  him.  Your  political  Nonconformist  can  swal- 
low a  good  deal,  but  this  cream-tart  business  is  a  little 
too  hot." 

"  Yes,"  said  Violet  drily,  "  Mr.  Fyshe  has  committed 
the  unpardonable  sin,  he  has  been  found  out." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  answered  Theodora 
with  uncompromising  frankness.  "At  least,  it  don't 
strike  me  in  that  way,"  she  went  on  flicking  the  ash 
from  her  cigarette,  "  I'm  not  over  squeamish,  I  hope, 
and  I  don't  see  what  a  man's  private  life  has  to  do  with 
his  public  career  though  I  wouldn't  say  so  on  a  plat- 
form. Look  at  Napoleon  and  Nelson  and  all  the  rest 
of  'em.  But  there  are  some  things  which  are  not  good 
form,  and  putting  pepper  into  a  cream-tart  is  one  of 
'em  to  my  thinkin'."  And  she  tossed  off  a  glass  of 
Allasch. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Violet  wincing.  She  hated  long 
tirades  and  Theodora's  in  particular.  "  By  all  means  : 
I  quite  agree  with  you.  And  you  really  think  Poley's 
chances  are  good?  If  only  you  and  your  splendid 
Primrose  League  will  work  for  him,  I  am  sure  he  must 
win." 

"  We  shall  pull  him  through,"  said  Theodora,  who, 
like  most  young  women  of  her  kind  was  not  prone  to 
under- rate  her  own  importance,  "with  the  Primrose 
League  and  the  Southwark  influence,  he's  bound  to 
head  the  poll.  "  We've  got  a  meetin'  of  the  Habita- 
tion to-morrow  and  I'm  goin'  to  canvass  from  house 
to  house  every  day  next  week.  There's  a  great  art  in 
canvassin'.  It's  more  important  than  speakin'  if 
people  would  only  realize  it.  You'd  better  come 
round  with  me.  It'll  do  good  if  you  show  yourself 
and  help  the  Cause,  and  then  I  can  put  you  through 
your  paces." 

"  That's  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  Violet  enthusi- 
astically. "  I'll  do  anything,  anything  of  course." 

"  Well,  I  must  be  off,"  said  Theodora,  jumping  up  in 
her  usual  abrupt  manner.  "I've  promised  to  meet 
Pirn  at  Tattersall's  a  little  after  three  and  have  a  look 
at  a  Park  hack  he's  got  his  eye  on  for  me.  Where's 
my  dawg?  Oh  here  he  is,"  as  a  villainous-looking  bull 
pup  emerged  from  beneath  the  table,  where  he  had 


322  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

been  sniffing  round  Violet's  ankles  much  to  her  discom- 
fort. But  she  had  borne  it  like  a  Spartan.  "  He's  a 
beauty,  isn't  he  ?  A  nose  you  could  hang  a  bucket  on. 
Come  along,  Bill."  .... 

When  Theodora  had  taken  her  leave,  Violet  went 
up  to  her  room, — a  cosy  nest  with  white  wood  furni- 
ture and  draperies  the  shade  of  a  blush  rose,  to  put  on 
her  things  for  a  drive.  She  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satis- 
faction as  she  looked  around.  Certainly  the  Professor's 
money  had  been  laid  out  to  a  good  advantage.  Then 
she  drew  on  her  gloves, — Violet's  male  friends  kept 
her  well  supplied  in  gloves, — and  tripped  downstairs 
to  the  neat  well-appointed  victoria,  which  was  waiting 
for  her. 

She  had  a  good  many  things  to  do  that  afternoon, 
a  lot  of  cards  to  leave  and  one  or  two  At-homes, 
for  the  season,  precipitated  by  the  coming  General 
Election,  was  dying  with  a  rush,  and  people  were 
trying  to  cram  everything  into  a  week  or  two,  that 
which  should  have  been  spread  over  a  month.  It 
was  quite  late  before  she  got  home,  after  a  turn  in 
the  Park  just  to  give  her  an  appetite  for  dinner. 

She  found  her  husband  busily  writing  upstairs  in 
the  little  room,  which  he  called  his  study. 

He  threw  down  his  pen  as  she  came  in  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  That  will  do,  I  think,"  he  said,  gathering  up  the 
sheets  of  foolscap  on  which  he  had  been  writing  his 
Election  Address.  "  Read  it  over,  Vixie,  and  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it.  It's  not  more  packed  with  plati- 
tudes than  the  ordinary  run  of  such  documents,  I  sup- 
pose. There  is  the  usual  reference  to  dynamite  and 
American  gold  and  the  infamy  of  smashing  our  grand 
old  Constitution.  I  think  that  touch  about  Free  Food 
will  catch  the  Labor  Vote  and  that  phrase  about  the 
sanctity  of  domestic  life  the  Nonconformists.  What 
do  you  think  ?  " 

Violet  looked  over  the  sheets  with  a  critical  air. 

"  You  have  forgotten  the  '  Maintenance  of  true  Re- 
ligion,' she  said  presently. 

"  Dear  me,  so  I  have.  How  stupid  of  me  to  forget 
it.  Make  a  note  of  it,  Vixie.  Anything  else?" 


THE  SPROUTING  OF  THE  BAY  TREE.          323 

"  There  is  no  direct  allusion  to  the  Fyshe  scandal," 
she  said,  tentatively.  "  Is  the  sentence  about  the  sanc- 
tity of  domestic  life  sufficient  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  We  will  leave  the  women  to  do  all  the 
rest.  .  .  Well  then,  I'll  stick  in  that  little  omission 
about  religion  and  send  it  off  to  the  printer.  Lord 
Southwark  will  want  to  see  the  proofs,  of  course.  To- 
morrow the  campaign  begins  in  earnest." 

"  And  in  three  weeks'  time,"  she  exclaimed,  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  his  neck,  "  I  shall  be  the  wife  of  a 
real  live  M.  P.  Oh !  Poley.  When  it  comes  to  be  a 
question  of  reward  for  '  services  to  the  party,'  remem- 
ber nothing  less  than  a  baronetcy  will  suffice.  You 
must  not  take  a  knighthood  like  that  wretched  Cincin- 
natus  Spreadeagle." 

He  returned  her  embrace  in  earnest,  a  smile  lighting 
up  the  dark  beauty  of  his  face.  They  were  really  very 
fond  of  one  another,  these  two. 

"  His  was  a  prize  for  silence.  I  mean  to  make  my 
voice  heard  I  can  tell  you.  Nothing  less  than  an 
Under-Secretaryship  will  content  me  to  begin  with — I 
mean  after  my  first  Parliament." 

"  When  Lord  Southwark  means  you  to  make  way 
for  Pimlico,"  reminded  Violet  with  a  little  pout. 

"  Lord  Southwark  has  forgotten  that  possession  is 
nine  points  of  the  law.  Once  in,  I  am  not  going  out 
again  unless  I  am  bought  out  with  a  safe  seat  else- 
where and  something  down  on  the  nail.  We  know  all 
about  that,  don't  we,  little  one?  But  tell  me  what 
have  you  been  doing  all  day  ?" 

"  I  had  that  odious  Theodora  and  her  horrid  dog  to 
lunch.  She  and  her  ridiculous  Primrose  League  will 
make  themselves  useful  canvassing  of  course.  Then  I 
made  some  calls,  and  went  on  to  Lady  Lily  Splashe's. 
She  edits  a  society  paper,  you  know,  and  is  going  to 
put  me  in  next  week  as  one  of  the  '  Beauties  of  To- 
day.' It  all  helps." 

"  I  thought  that  was  a  question  of  buying  five  hun- 
dred copies  at  least,"  said  Coryton,  looking  a  little 
glum. 

"  Not  to  me,  dear  boy.  I  tell  her  all  about  the  smart 
parties  I  go  to, — from  which  she  is  tabooed  now,  poor 


324  TEE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

* 

thing- — and  this  and  some  puff-paragraphs  are  the  re- 
turn. '  Cutlet  for  cutlet,'  you  know." 

"  You  are  a  genius,  Vixie,"  said  her  husband  admir- 
ingly. "  What  else  ?  " 

"  I  have  written  your  biography  for  Creeper-Craw- 
ley's  paper.  You  are  to  be  the  next  in  the  series 
of  'People  I  have  known.'  This  is  an  age  of  ad- 
vertisement, you  know  ;  there  is  nothing  like  log- 
rolling. Cultivate  the  press  agencies  and  subscribe 
to  Romeike,  that's  my  motto.  By  the  way,  he's 
coming  here  to  dinner  to-night — Creeper-Crawley,  I 
mean,  not  Romeike, — and  so  is  Cincinnatus  Spread- 
eagle.  They  are  both  to  help  you  in  the  election  in 
different  ways.  Dear  me,  it's  half-past  seven  already ! 
I  must  be  off  to  dress." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

WEST-SOUTHWAKK. 

The  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophisters,  economists  and 
calculators  has  succeeded. — BUKKE. 

THE  fateful  day  of  the  West- Sou thwark  Election 
opened'  bright  and  encouraging.  There  is  nothing  so 
encouraging  as  a  bright  day,  most  of  all  in  politics,  and 
Coryton,  Violet  and  their  chosen  henchmen,  as  they 
drove  down  in  two-horse  victorias  at  cockcrow,  were 
all  in  the  highest  spirits.  Partly  because  they  felt  they 
were  going  to  win  and  partly  because  it  was  such  a 
relief  to  have  done  with  this  tiresome  electioneering  at 
last. 

The  campaign  had  been  wound  up  the  night  before 
with  a  crowded  meeting,  where  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spread- 
eagle  had  discoursed,  in  his  very  best  Yankee  twang, 
on  the  irresistible  vigor  of  British  patriotism,  and  Mr. 
Toadey-Snaile,  M.  P.,  amid  the  respectful  silence  due 
to  so  solemn  a  subject,  had  dealt  with  the  sanctity  of 
the  home. 


WEST-SOUTH  WAR  K.  325 

It  had  all  been  unanimous,  enthusiastic,  righteously 
indignant.  And  Cory  ton  knew  enough  of  politics  to  be 
aware  that,  though  unanimous  and  even  enthusiastic 
meetings  never  mean  anything,  yet  when  the  free  and  in- 
dependent turn  up  the  whites  of  their  eyes,  they  always 
mean  business.  Moreover,  since  that  meeting  Cory- 
ton  had  obtained  his  trump-card  and  there  seemed  no 
doubt  that  he  had  only  to  play  it  in  order  to  win  the 
game. 

For  the  last  ten  days  his  agent  h&d  been  telling  him 
that  the  issue  depended  entirely  upon  the  votes  of 
some  two  hundred  members  of  an  Independent  Labor 
Club,  who  wanted  the  government  to  take  up  the  ques- 
tion of  Free  Food  in  the  Board  Schools.  This  grimy 
little  club  had  become  the  pivot  of  the  election,  and 
had  acquired  a  totally  disproportionate  importance. 
The  caucuses  of  both  parties  had  tried  to  bully  it,  but 
it  had  snapped  its  fingers.  The  hack  wire-pullers  had 
been  sent  down  to  parley  and  had  received  only  a  snub- 
bing for  their  pains.  Mr.  "  Tutu  "  Falstaff  had  had 
the  door  slammed  in  his  face  and  the  Hon.  Fitz  Mar- 
maduke  Brabazon  had  had  his  hat  bashed  in.  Then 
Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  M.  P.,  and  Mr.  Snorthorse,  chief 
among  wire-pullers,  had  said,  "  Surely  they  will  rever- 
ence us  ;  "  but  even  the  visits  of  those  magnates  to  the 
little  club  in  Petticoat  Lane,  West-Southwark,  had 
been  of  no  avail. 

If  the  Government  would  pledge  itself  to  bring  in  a 
"  Beer  and  Buns  "  bill,  as  it  was  popularly  called  that 
Session,  the  Wat  Tyler  Club  would  vote  solid  for  Mr. 
Coryton  ;  if  the  Government  refused  and  the  Old  Par- 
liamentary Leg  would  give  a  pledge,  unqualified  by  his 
usual  sesquipedalian  parentheses,  the  Wat  Tyler  Club 
would  vote  solid  for  Mr.  Loose-Fyshe.  A  pledge  from 
Snorthorse  or  Toadey-Snaile  would  not  suffice.  No  ex- 
cuses were  held  to  be  satisfactory.  It  was  a  case  of  no 
bill,  no  votes.  What  cared  the  Wat  Tyler  Club  for  the 
fact  that  the  Conservative  party  was  opposed  to  the  bill 
on  principle  ?  What  cared  it  for  the  fact  that  Mr.  Loose- 
Fyshe  was  pledged  up  to  the  eyes  against  it  ?  No  bill, 
no  votes ! 

Mr.  Artful   Cadger.   President    of  the  Wat  Tyler 


326  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

Club,  was  inexorable.  It  was  in  vain  that  Coryton 
assured  him  of  sympathy  and  objected  that  the  Con- 
servatives of  West-Southwark  would  not  stand  a 
pledge  on  the  subject ;  in  vain  that  he  promised  to 
support  such  a  bill  if  some  one  else  would  introduce  it. 
Xo  bill,  no  votes  ! 

So  Coryton  had  an  interview  with  the  Prime  Min- 
ister the  day  before,  and  now  he  had  in  his  breast- 
pocket a  letter  in  that  statesman's  precise  hand,  which 
could  not  fail  to  brush  away  Mr.  Cadger's  last  remain- 
ing scruples. 

"  We  will  bring  in  a  bill,"  the  Prime  Minister  had 
said,  with  an  oracular  smile,  after  listening  in  an 
amused  paternal  sort  of  way  to  Coryton's  pleading, 
"  we  will  bring  in  a  bill,  by  all  means,  if  the  Wat  Ty lei- 
Club  insists.  Just  now  that  body  is  master  of  the 
situation." 

"  It  is  the  key  to  the  election,"  said  Coryton,  with  a 
passable  affectation  of  earnestness. 

"  And  the  election  is  the  pivot  of  the  Empire," 
returned  the  Prime  Minister  sarcastically.  "So,  of 
course,  we  will  bring  in  a  bill.  But  whether  we  shall 
pass  it,"  and  he  looked  longingly  towards  his  chemical 
laboratory,  impatient  to  end  the  interview,  "God  bless 
my  soul,  that's  quite  another  thing!  " 

Coryton  laughed.  "  They'll  expect  you  to  resign  if 
you  don't  pass  it." 

"  They  will,  will  they  ? "  he  returned  gruffly,  as  he 
sat  down  to  write  the  required  letter. 

The  agent  had  wished  Coryton  to  read  the  letter  at 
last  night's  meeting,  but  Coryton  had  prudently  pre- 
ferred not  to  risk  Conservative  abstentions  by  such  a 
course  and  had  determined  to  communicate  with  the 
Wat  Tyler  Club  only  at  the  last  moment.  Every  effort 
would  be  made  to  poll  his  own  party  early  and,  when 
there  were  as  few  as  possible  of  them  to  risk  alienating, 
he  would  go  and  make  his  terms  with  the  mammon  of 
the  Wat  Tyler  Club. 

He  knew,  since  their  last  deputation  to  Mr.  Fyshe, 
that  they  would  certainly  not  vote  for  that  statesman, 
and  that  it  was  merely  a  question  of  producing  the 
Prime  Minister's  letter  and  securing  their  votes  at  any 


WEST-SOUTHWARK.  327 

time.  With  their  votes  the  victory  was  assured  and 
Coryton,  as  he  drove  down  to  Southwark,  in  the  early 
morning,  felt  that  his  first  great  ambition  was  virtually 
attained  and  that  he  was  on  the  threshold  of  a  great 
career. 

Never  had  Violet  been  in  such  spirits, — certainly 
never  at  that  time  in  the  morning. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile,  "  I 
had  been  dreading  this  business  of  getting  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  I  always  agreed  with  Admiral 
Mauresk,  who  tells  you,  '  One  always  feels  frightfully 
ill  in  the  morning  and  then  one  gets  gradually  better 
and  better  all  day,  until  by  dinner  time  one  is  charm- 
ing.' I  used  to  think  it  was  simply  tempting  Provi- 
dence even  to  show  oneself  before  luncheon.  But 
somehow  to-day,  at  6.30  A.M.,  I  feel  as  sprightly  and 
active,  and  keen  about  things  as  a  cheap  tripper  on  a 
Bank  Holiday." 

"  She's  as  beautiful  as  a  butterfly, 
And  as  proud  as  a  Queen," 

trolled  forth  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile  with  a  slobbery  leer. 

"  Is  pretty  little  Sally  Popkins 
Of  Clerkenwell  Green," 

Coryton  hummed,  completing  the  couplet. 

Violet  frowned  slightly  and  changed  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  I  wonder  how  early  Theodora  Gargoyle  will  turn 
up.  She  is  going  to  drive  a  dog-cart  ablaze  with 
Poley's  posters  all  day  to  bring  up  voters.  She  wanted 
it  to  be  a  tandem,  but  Pirn  persuaded  her  that  rotten 
eggs  would  fidget  the  horses  and,  though  she  would 
not  mind  such  things  for  herself,  she  was  not  going  to 
risk  them  for  her  precious  '  gees.'  " 

The  election  passed  off  as  most  elections  do. 
There  was  the  usual  display  of  activity  at  the  various 
committee  rooms,  the  usual  demonstrations  of  party- 
spirit  on  the  part  of  all  the  small  boys  in  the  constitu- 


328  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  THEE. 

ency,  and  the  usual  amount  of  bribery,  treating  and 
intimidation  under  the  rose.  There  was  more  than  the 
usual  amount  of  social  splash,  which  is  always  imported 
into  metropolitan  elections  beyond  Jordan.  With  the 
Radical  candidate  it  was  a  life  or  death  struggle  and  no 
effort  had  been  spared  to  make  an  imposing  show  of 
every  single  one  of  his  friends  who  still  stuck  to  him. 
Admiral  Mauresk  had  sent  his  carriage  all  the  way 
from  Dorking  and  his  son  "  Tiger,"  was  driving  a  van 
round  all  day  bringing  up  voters.  A  number  of  French 
statesmen,  as  yet  untainted  by  the  breath  of  Panama, 
went  the  round  of  the  committee  rooms  to  impress  the 
electorate.  And  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  things 
were  beginning  to  look  black,  the  wife  of  the  ex- Premier 
came  down  and  drove  rapidly  three  times  round  the 
constituency  in  a  poke  bonnet: — "as  if  the  seat  was  to 
be  captured  like  Jericho,"  said  Sir  Cincinnatus  in  com- 
ment, as  he  gulped  down  another  brandy  and  soda. 

On  the  other  side  the  struggle  was  no  less  keen. 
The  party  felt  that  a  victory  in  West-Southwark  meant 
a  new  lease  of  life  and  it  took  care  to  send  all  its  sol- 
diery into  the  field,  from  the  light  skirmishers  of  the 
Primrose  League  in  their  smartest  spring  dresses  to 
the  heavy  ordnance  of  the  Beerage  and  the  kept  regu- 
lars of  the  Working  Men's  Clubs.  Never  had  such  a 
display  of  posters  and  election  literature  been  known, 
never  had  so  much  ingenuity  been  expended  in  devis- 
ing telling  cries.  Before  the  early  milkman  had  started 
on  his  rounds,  the  whole  pavement  of  the  constituency 
had  been  stencilled  in  large  black  letters  with  a  com- 
mand tO  "  VOTE  FOK  CORYTON  AND  THE  ELEVENTH  COM- 

MANDMENT."  Before  the  postman  had  concluded  the 
first  delivery  of  letters,  every  street  had  an  arrange- 
ment of  banners,  hung  from  one  Radical  window  to 
another,  proclaiming  to  the  world  that  "  SOUTHWARK 
TRUSTS  AND  HONORS  FYSHE."  Before  the  workers  had 
gone  out  for  their  dinner-hour,  every  wall  and  hoard- 
ing had  the  pictorial  representation  of  a  gigantic  loaf 
with  the  legend  "  VOTE  FOR  FYSHE  AND  CHEAP  BREAD," 
in  subtle  allusion  to  Coryton's  supposed  leanings  to- 
wards Fair  Trade.  Before  the  workers  had  returned 
to  their  work,  Coryton's  printers,  at  the  suggestion  of 


WE8T-SOUTHWARK.  329 

the  astute  Creeper-Crawley,  had  pasted  the  additional 
words  "  AND  CIIKAP  WAGES  "  at  the  foot  of  the  placards. 

Towards  tea-time  the  agents  on  both  sides  were  cock- 
sure of  success,  but  Mr.  Creeper-Crawley,  who  knew 
more  about  elections  than  everybody  else,  shook  his 
head  gravely  and  said  oracularly  that  he  thought  they 
now  had  a  slight  majority,  but  that  he  fervently  wished 
that  "night  or  Blucher"  would  arrive.  Blucher  in 
this  case  was  Mr.  Artful  Cadger,  President  of  the  Wat 
Tyler  Club,  whom  Cory  ton  had  been  vainly  searching 
for  during  more  than  an  hour. 

The  two  hundred  of  Mr.  Cadger's  brigade  had  been 
spending  the  day  at  the  Blue  Badger  Tavern,  watching 
each  other  like  lynxes,  determined  that  they  would  be 
bought  or  sold  as  one  in.in.  "But  Mr.  Cadger  was  off  011 
a  secret  mission  to  the  Goat  and  Compasses  and,  in  his 
absence,  nothing  that  Coryton  could  say  or  show  had 
the  faintest  effect  upon  his  followers.  So  Lord  Pimlico 
and  his  van,  Theodora  Gargoyle  and  her  gaudy  dog- 
cart, Lady  Elizabeth  in  a  brougham,  Mr.  Blunder  Cable 
with  his  drag  and  Violet  on  the  box-seat  beside  him, 
waited  outside  to  take  them  up  to  the  poll  as  soon  as 
they  would  come. 

Meanwhile,  Coryton  dashed  along  in  Lord  Rupert 
Cameron's  private  hansom  from  one  low  public  house 
to  another,  in  search  of  the  key  to  the  situation,  the 
"  pivot  of  the  Empire,"  as  he  told  Mr.  Cadger  the 
Prime  Minister  had  called  him,  when  at  last  he  found 
him  in  a  half-drunken  condition  in  the  bar  parlor  of  the 
Marquis  of  Granby.  However,  everything  was  ac- 
complished all  right ;  the  Prime  Minister's  letter  more 
than  sufficed  to  turn  the  "  Pivot  of  the  Empire ;  "  and 
Coryton  brought  him  back  in  triumph  to  the  Blue 
Badger  as  fast  as  his  hansom  could  scamper.  Theodora 
gave  a  joyous  view-halloo  as  they  came  in  sight  and 
the  other  impatient  amateur  Jarveys  joined  in  giving 
them  a  tumultuous  ovation.  The  faithful  two  hundred 
needed  but  few  words  of  persuasion  from  their  chief 
and  soon  they  were  driving  down  to  perform  their 
duties  as  citizens  as  fast  as  their  aristocratic  convey- 
ances could  carry  them. 

As   soon   as   the   poll  was   closed,  everybody  drove 


330  THE  GREEN  RAY  TREE. 

back  to  dinner  at  Lord  Southwark's.  Some  were  for 
going  down  to  hear  the  poll  declared  at  midnight  from 
Southwark  town-hall,  but  the  majority  preferred  to 
await  the  pleasure  of  the  telegraph  wires.  Everybody 
was  unanimous  in  congratulating  Coryton  upon  the 
splendid  manner  in  which  he  had  fought  the  election, 
and  especially  upon  the  diplomatic  talent  he  had  shown 
in  the  suing  and  winning  of  Mr.  Artful  Cadger.  Violet 
also  came  in  for  many  pretty  speeches,  especially  from 
the  men,  upon  her  cunning  as  a  canvasser.  Nor  were 
compliments  wanting  to  Theodora  Merivale  for  her 
tireless  efforts  and  success  with  her  horses  in  a  crowd. 

When  much-needed  refreshment  had  put  everybody 
in  a  more  hopeful  frame  of  mind,  Lord  Southwark  asked 
Mr.  Creeper-Crawley  across  the  table  what  he  thought 
the  majority  would  be. 

"  A  close  thing,  my  Lord,  a  very  close  thing,"  re- 
turned thnt  oracle.  "  Thanks  to  the  Blue  Badger  con- 
tingent, we  have  certainly  won,  but  I  shall  be  surprised 
if  Mr.  Coryton's  majority  exceeds  150." 

Theodora  whistled  and  offered  to  bet  him  six  ponies 
to  four  that  it  would  exceed  500,  but  Creeper-Crawley 
only  blinked  benevolently  and  said  he  did  not  wish  to 
take  advantage  of  a  lady's  ignorance  of  electioneering 
matters. 

"  If  Crawley  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Toadey-Snaile  in  his 
unctuous  way,  "  our  good  friend  Cadger  will  really 
have  justified  his  claim  to  the  title  of  '  Pivot  of  the 
Empire.'  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 

Creeper-Crawley  had  not  to  wait  long  for  the  accu- 
racy of  his  prediction  to  be  justified,  for  within  a  couple 
of  hours  the  electric  wires  were  throbbing  through  the 
country  and  beneath  the  seas  with  the  news  that  a 
young  and  unknown  man  had  defeated  by  the  narrow 
majority  of  179  votes  a  statesman,  whom  Europe  had 
long  been  watching  with  anxiety. 

When  at  last  Coryton  and  his  wife  were  alone,  in  the 
small  hours  of  the  next  morning,  their  hearts  were  too 
full  for  many  words.  But  as  Violet  turned  up  the 
lamp  in  their  little  sitting-room  in  Curzon  Street  and 
looked  at  her  husband,  she  thought  she  had  never 


GRUB  STREET  W.  C.  331 

beheld  so  victorious  a  visage.  He  seemed  to  hold  him- 
seii  more  erect  than  was  his  wont,  his  eyes  had  a 
sparkle  more  brilliant  than  kohl,  and  his  nostrils  were 
dilated  like  those  of  a  racehorse,  which  has  just  carried 
off  the  prize.  She  stood  gazing  at  him  fondly  as  he 
stood  by  the  chimney,  lost  in  thought.  Then  suddenly 
an  irresistible  impulse  came  over  her.  She  placed  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders  and  looked  up  enthusiast- 
ically into  his  eyes  exclaiming,  "  Poley !  Poley  !  This 
is  too  good  to  be  true.  I  am  sure  it  must  be  some 
heavenly  dream  and  presently  there  will  be  a  knock  at 
the  door  and  I  shall  wake  up  to  find  that  you  are  not 
an  M.P.  after  all." 

Cory  ton  looked  back  tenderly  into  her  eyes  and  said, 

"  Vixie,   darling,   this   is   the  beginning  of  a  great 

career.     You  and  I  together,  my  clever  little  girl,  we 

are  irresistible.     There  is  nothing  so  high  that  it  is  out 

of  our  reach." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

G  HUB    S  T  K  E  K  T,    W.    C. 

"  My  life  is  one  demd  horrid  grind.'' — C.  DICKENS  :  Nicholas 
Nickleby. 

"  WOT'LL,  you  'ave  for  dinner  to-day,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Anything.  Whatever's  least 
nasty." 

"  Let's  see.  Yer  'ad  steak  last  night.  Would  yei 
fancy  chawps  to-day  ?  Or  p'r'aps  "  (this  as  an  inspi- 
ration) "  p'r'aps  I  might  do  yer  some  tasty  little  weal 
cutlets.  Only  weal  comes  expensive  just  now." 

"  Pray  don't  trouble  to  put  such  a  tax  on  your  im- 
agination. I  shall  dine  out  to-day." 

There  was  a  discontented  silence  for  nearly  a 
minute. 

"  Then  there's  lunch  and  dinner  to-morrer,  which, 
bein'  Sunday,  'as  got  to  be  thought  on.  I  suppose 


332  THE  0 KEEN  BAY  TREE. 

yer'll  be  in  to-morrer,  won't  yer,  sir?  for  lunch  and 
dinner.'1 

"  Xo.  I  won't  be  in  to-morrow,  for  either  lunch  or 
dinner.  I  am  sick  of  having  nothing  fit  to  eat.  I  can't 
stand  it  any  longer.  Leave  me  now.  I  am  busy.  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do  and  yon  keep  on  inter- 
rupting me.  Leave  the  room,  I  say/1 

Tyreonnel's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  his  landlady 
bounced  ont  of  the  room  in  a  dudgeon,  slamming  the 
door  after  her.  The  room,  as  he  looked  round  it 
wearily,  was  indeed  enough  to  give  any  one  the  blues 
and  he  felt  broken  in  health  as  well  as  sick  at  heart. 
The  carpet  was  of  the  cheap  "Kidderminster"  kind, 
which  by  the  way  is  no  longer  made  at  all  in  the 
town  of  that  ilk.  It  had  a  great  vulgar  pattern  of  im- 
possible flowers,  such  as  nature,  in  her  vulgarest  mo- 
ments, never  dreamed  of  perpetrating,  and  it  seemed 
to  have  been  chosen  with  a  view  of  presenting  the 
utmost  possible  discord  with  the  bird  of  paradise  wall- 
paper, Avhich  once  had  been  of  the  brightest  aniline 
dyes,  but  now  looked  a  strange  medley  of  griminess, 
and  flaring  bad  taste,  like  an  exhibit  at  the  Xew 
English  Art  Club. 

Some  two  feet  above  the  level  of  the  eye  were  a 
series  of  loyal  and  patriotic  oleographs, — The  death  of 
Xelson,  The  wedding  of  Queen  Victoria,  and  a  portrait 
of  a  German  princelet  wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  garter. 
Among  them  were  three  ordinary — very  ordinary — 
dinner  plates  affixed  to  the  wall  by  an  arrangement  of 
wire.  On  a  side  table  was  a  ghastly  erection  of  shells 
and  mouldy  birds  and  artificial  grasses,  protected  from 
contamination  by  a  bell-glass. 

At  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  sat  Tyrconnel, 
with  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  and  a  new  stock  of  pens 
and  blotting  paper  beside  him.  For  a  long  time  he  sat 
with  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  his  hand  pressed 
against  his  temples,  vainly  trying  to  think  and  only 
succeeding  in  starting  fresh  speculations  about  the  in- 
finite variety  of  stains  and  marks  upon  the  scarlet 
cloth  with  the  ornithological  pattern. 

He  had  suffered  a  great  change  since  Monte  Carlo. 
His  face,  which  used  to  be  rather  cherubic  in  the  old 


GEUP.  STREET,  W.   C.  333 

days,  had  acquired  a  pinched,  angular  ln'>k  ;  his  cheek- 
bones stood  out  prominently  and  there  was  a  hectic 
flush  upon  them  that  boded  no  good.  When  he  walked 
abroad,  whicli  he  now  only  did  for  a  specific  object, 
men  would  often  turn  round  in  the  street  and  whisper 
to  each  other.  lie  now  sat  upon  a  hard,  straight- 
backed  chair,  but  his  shoulders  were  rounded  and  he 
crouched  over  the  table  helplessly,  and  his  mind  kept 
wandering  away  to  all  sorts  of  sad,  heartbreaking 
subjects.  From  time  to  time  he  would  make  a  stern 
effort  to  collect  his  thoughts.  lie  would  sit  bolt 
upright,  gasp  for  breath  and  make  a  feeble  motion 
to  move  his  shoulders  back.  He  would  take  up  a 
pen,  dip  it  in  the  ink  and  poise  it  in  the  air  just  above 
his  blank  sheet  of  paper.  But  it  was  no  use.  The 
words  obstinately  would  not  flow  and  he  had  not  the 
physical  strength  to  remain  sitting  to  attention. 

As  he  sat  there  in  the  gray  November  gloom,  he  went 
over,  in  a  sad  retrospect,  all  that  had  happened  to  him 
since  his  wife's  flight  from  Cannes  six  months  ago. 

The  recollection  of  his  last  scene  with  her  and  of 
the  staggering  shock  caused  him  by  her  abrupt 
departure  from  Cannes,  without  so  much  as  a  line  or 
a  message,  was  burnt  into  his  soul.  Every  train  of 
thought  seemed  to  lead  back  to  that  catastrophe,  and 
all  the  events  that  followed  it  had  no  more  reality  to  him 
than  a  bad  dream. 

Most  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night  had  been 
spent  pacing  up  and  down  the  sitting-room,  in  an 
agony  of  self-reproach  and  despair  too  piteous  for 
words.  He  had  tried  to  reason  with  himself,  to  find, 
if  possible,  some  ray  of  hope  for  a  happy  future, 
but  when  the  cold  gray  dawn  came  through  the  Venetian 
blinds  and  woke  him  from  a  restless  stupor  that  had 
overtaken  him  on  the  sofa,  it  brought  no  relief  to 
his  perplexities.  He  knew  Gwendolen's  unbending 
obstinacy  too  well  to  believe  that  anything  short  of 
a  miracle  could  alter  it.  And  without  Gwendolen 
life  must  be  a  blank  to  him.  He  had  felt  the  re- 
straints imposed  by  her  stern  code  irksome  at  times, 
but  now  that  she  was  absent,  every  trifle  reminded 
him  of  her  and  added  fresh  torture  to  the  wound. 


334  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

What  would  become  of  him  ?  To  whom  should  he 
turn  ?  God  help  him",  he  did  not  know.  The  day 
wore  on  until  the  short  Cannes  twilight  was  upon 
him,  and  he  scarcely  stirred.  He  sank  into  a  sort 
of  lethargy  and  remained  in  one  position  hour  after 
hour,  staring  blankly  into  space. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  mood  changed  and  a  great 
craving  for  action  came  over  him.  He  paced  the 
sitting-room  and  poured  himself  out  a  stiff  tumbler 
of  brandy  and  soda.  A  telegram  from  Cory  ton  was 
on  the  table,  saying  he  and  his  wife  Avould  come 
over  to  lunch  on  the  morrow,  but  he  turned  from  it 
in  disgust.  How  could  any  such  mere  mundane  de- 
tail interest  him  now  ?  How  could  he  endure  the 
superficial  condolences,  the  veiled  sneers,  the  idle 
gossip  of  those  butterfly  friends  ?  To-morrow  !  He 
would  be  hundreds  of  miles  away  by  then.  Cannes 
was  alive  with  memories.  He  would  hasten  away — 
anywhere.  If  he  could  not  hope  to  rejoin  his  wife, 
he  could  at  least  escape  from  this  torture. 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  When  he  was  in  this 
mood,  he  always  acted  on  impulses.  Bradshaw  was 
hastily  dragged  out.  Just  time,  by  Jove  !  A  bag  and 
a  portmanteau  were  packed.  The  landlord  was  paid 
his  bill  and  told  to  have  the  rest  of  the  luggage  done 
up  and  sent  home  by  petite  vitesse. 

Within  an  hour  Tyrconnel  was  installed  in  a  little 
salon,  with  his  nose  towards  the  Xorth.  He  felt 
feverish,  his  head  ached  with  great  throbs  and  there 
was  a  numb  pain  in  his  chest  which  he  had  never 
known  before.  But  he  felt  also  a  keen  sense  of  relief, 
as  if  he  had  just  passed  through  an  agony  and  wras 
weak  and  prostrate  after  it. 

At  last  he  was  off.  The  familiar  stations  flashed 
past,  the  familiar  names  were  bawled  out  sonorously, 
but  it  was  all  one  to  him.  He  did  not  get  out  once, 
he  refused  all  proffers  of  food,  all  the  way  to  Calais. 
The  conductor  was  sent  again  and  again  for  brandy, 
but  it  had  no  more  effect  on  him  than  upon  a  man  in 
whom  poison  has  begun  to  work. 

After  Lyons  there  was  snow  everywhere,  a  soulless 
waste  of  white  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  in  all 


CHUB  STREET,  W.  C.  335 

directions,  and  a  great  chill  came  over  him,  extending 
from  the  heart  to  the  frail,  shivering  body.  He  wrapped 
himself  more  closely  in  his  furs,  he  drew  forth  fresh 
rugs  from  the  straps,  but  nothing  could  drive  away  the 
chill  from  his  broken  heart. 

Something  brought  Coryton  into  his  thoughts  and 
he  half  regretted  that  he  had  not  waited  to  see  him 
Coryton  was  a  good  fellow  and  had  seen  him  round 
many  a  difficult  corner  before  now.  But  no  !  That 
sleek,  smiling  face  woilld  have  been  maddening  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  grief.  Violet  Coryton  ?  She  was  a 
sympathetic  little  thing  and  her  presence  could  not 
have  failed  to  be  soothing.  But  how  could  she  under- 
stand ?  Strong  feelings,  the  sorrow  of  a  lifetime  would 
be  about  as  intelligible  to  her  as  Coptic.  He  was  best 
alone.  Alone !  Yes,  indeed.  He  had  not  a  single  real 
friend, — no  one  to  whom  he  could  open  his  stricken 
heart  now. 

The  train  rattled  on  through  the  snow  and  darkness 
and  seemed  to  snort  mockingly  as  it  forged  ahead 
towards  the  unknown.  The  channel  crossing  was  a 
fearful  one,  all  the  more  fearful  in  the  miserable  cockle- 
shell of  a  boat,  which  the  company  seems  always  to 
select  in  connection  with  the.  more  expensive  services 
of  trains.  Tyrconnel,  who  at  the  best  of  times  was  a 
bad  sailor,  learned  all  the  bitterness  of  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death.  As  Miss  Connecticut  once  ex- 
pressed it,  "  to  begin  with  he  was  afraid  he  was  going 
to  die,  and  then  he  became  much  more  afraid  that  he 
was  not  going  to  die  after  all." 

At  the  end  of  the  journey  he  just  had  energy  enough 
to  tell  his  cabman  to  drive  to  some  lodgings  in  Curzon 
Street,  kept  by  old  servants,  where  he  had  often  spent 
an  odd  week  in  the  old  days,  when  his  father's  house 
was  shut  up  or  it  was  convenient  for  some  other  rea- 
son. They  welcomed  him  effusively  but  regretted 
more  than  they  could  say  that  they  had  not  a  crevice 
in  the  whole  house  to  spare,  and  the  best  they  could 
suggest  was  a  house  they  knew  of  in  Half-Moon  Street 
hard  by. 

There  he  obtained  two  dreary  little  rooms  on  the 
second  floor  at  the  exorbitant  rent  of  four  guineas  a 


336  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

week  and  took  to  his  bed  at  once.  During  three  days 
he  was  delirious  and  the  doctor  for  a  time  feared  for 
his  reason.  It  never  occurred  to  any  one  to  send  for 
liis  relations  and  he  remained  there,  at  death's  door, 
badly  nursed,  without  a  friendly  face  beside  him,  left 
to  die  like  a  dog  in  a  ditch. 

Thinking  it  over  now  in  his  Bloomsbury  lodgings, 
he  wondered  ho\v  he  had  managed  to  survive  that 
period  of  physical  and  mental  torture.  He  clenched 
liis  fist  and  rapped  the  greasy  table  with  it,  cursing  a 
malevolent  Providence  that  had  brought  him  through. 
And  yet  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not  died  then,  for, 
while  there  was  life,  there  was  ever  a  lurking  hope 
that  he  might  see  Gwendolen  once  more. 

It  was  that  hope,  amounting  almost  to  a  fixed  idea, 
which  had  buoyed  him  up  through  it  all,  and  a  deep 
intense  longing  came  over  him  and  shook  his  slender 
frame.  Tie  would  see  her  !  lie  must  see  her  !  But 
how  ?  But  when  ?  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  swayed  to  and  fro  with  impotent  desire. 

It  was  some  months  now  since  his  delirious  fever, 
but  the  delirious  yearning  was  no  whit  less  strong 
upon  him.  And  yet  he  had  had  plenty  of  worries  to 
distract  his  thoughts.  As  soon  as  he  was  well  enough, 
he  had  written  to  his  father  and  his  aunt,  telling  them 
the  whole  story  and  more  than  the  whole  sad  story  in 
a  torrent  of  self-reproach. 

Never  very  good  at  lucid  expression,  he  could 
now,  in  his  weak  half-hysterical  condition,  only  put 
together  a  rambling  inconsequential  narrative,  which 
exaggerated  every  wrong  on  his  part  and  left  out 
every  extenuating  circumstance.  The  natural  inference, 
as  far  as  any  inference  was  possible  from  his  ravings 
was  that,  before  his  honeymoon  was  a  month  old, 
he  had  left  his  wife  at  Cannes  and  gone  off  to  Monte 
Carlo  with  some  syren,  whom  he  now  denounced 
with  ridiculous  violence  ;  that,  when  Gwendolen 
complained,  he  had  told  her  brutally  that  the  same 
code  of  morals  was  not  to  be  expected  from  a  man 
as  from  a  woman  ;  that  he  had  abused  her,  ill-treated 
her,  made  her  life  a  burden  to  her,  and  that  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  him ;  that  she  had  gone  out  into  the 


GRUB  STREET,  W.  C.  337 

snow ;  that  he  did  not  know  where  she  was  and  that  it 
was  useless  to  inquire;  that  he  was  very,  very  un- 
happy and  needed  sympathy  ;  that  he  had  no  friend  left 
in  the  world  save  his  father  and  his  aunt  and  that  he 
implored  them,  in  God's  name,  not  to  forsake  him  in 
his  distress. 

Lord  Baltinglass,  who  had  not  a  particle  of  senti- 
ment in  his  composition,  made  short  work  of  this  tirade. 

"  By  your  own  showing,"  he  wrote,  "  you  are  a  fool 
as  well  as  a  scoundrel.  Your  wife  was  not  the  one 
that  I  should  have  chosen  for  you,  as  I  naturally 
thought  that  the  future  Lord  Baltinglass  of  Blarney 
might  have  looked  somewhat  higher,  but  as  you  said 
your  happiness  was  at  stake,  I  gave  way  and  you 
married  a  girl,  who,  if  not  rich  or  nobly  born,  was  at 
any  rate  sweet  and  good  and  beautiful  and,  what  is 
more,  entirely  devoted  to  your  weak  and  wicked  self. 
Now,  as  far  as  I  can  gather  from  your  badly  expressed 
letter — which  is  more  worthy  of  a  hysterical  schoolgirl 
than  of  a  Harrow  arid  Cambridge  education, — you  have 
already  insulted  her  virtue  and  innocence,  with  a 
vulgar  intrigue.  You  have  treated  her  so  badly  that 
she  has  been  forced  to  run  away  and  claim  the  protec- 
tion of  her  relatives  almost  before  your  honeymoon 
was  over.  And  now  you  don't  seem  to  care  a  snap 
what  may  have  happened  to  her,  or  show  any  desire  to 
make  amends.  You  simply  come  whining  to  us  for 
sympathy  with  your  weakness  and  wickedness.  I 
blush  to  think  that  a  son  of  mine  should  have  acted 
in  such  a  dishonorable  and  unmanly  way.  You  will 
get  no  sympathy  from  me  until  you  come  to  a  right 
sense  of  your  position  and  are  reconciled  to  the  wife 
you  have  injured.  You  seem  to  think  of  nobody  at  all 
but  your  contemptible  self,  neither  of  me  nor  of  her. 
Have  you  so  little  to  thank  me  for  that  you  do  not 
consider  the  injury  to  me  such  a  scandal  must  cause  if 
it  got  into  the  papers  ?  My  sympathy  ?  No,  nor  my 
money  shall  you  have  until  you  make  full  amends 
for  your  wrong-doing.  From  this  day  forth  your 
allowance  ceases.  Not  a  sixpence  of  mine  shall  go 
towards  your  shameless  career  of  profligacy.  Per- 
haps that  will  help  to  bring  you  to  your  senses,  as 
22 


338  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

neither  warnings  nor  stern  experience  seem  to  have 
any  effect  upon  you.  We  shall  see.  Meanwhile  I 
decline  to  see  you  or  have  any  communication  what- 
ever with  you,  until  I  am  assured  that  you  have 
turned  over  a  new  leaf.  Your  sorrowful  Father, 
BALTIXGLASS." 

Miss  Tyrconnel  wrote  in  quite  as  uncompromising 
a  tone,  though  with  less  lucidity.  After  the  shock 
given  him  by  his  father's  letter,  Wilfrid's  heart  sank 
within  him  at  the  prospect  of  wading  through  the 
twelve  blurred  pages,  crossed  and  recrossed,  in  which 
his  aunt  delivered  herself  of  her  reproaches.  She 
began  with  a  biographical  sketch  of  her  nephew,  dwelt 
upon  the  many  merits  of  her  system  of  juvenile  educa- 
tion and  his  ingratitude  in  belying  them,  and  launched 
off  into  more  or  less  inappropriate  quotations  from  the 
Bible  about  undutiful  children  and  the  way  of  trans- 
gressors. Then,  like  an  old  seven- volume  novelist,  she 
took  Gwendolen  in  the  same  way  ;  traced  her  parent- 
age and  education,  pointing  out  the  connection  between 
her  amenability  as  a  child  and  her  present  state  of 
grace ;  held  forth  upon  the  soundness  of  her  doctrines 
and  their  usefulness  as  consolation  in  time  of  calamity. 
From  this  she  drifted  into  a  tirade  against  the  wick- 
edness of  unbelief,  and  the  yet  greater  enormity  of 
misbelief,  until  Tyrconnel  really  began  to  think  he 
must  be  a  heathen  and  a  savage  as  well  as  a  criminal 
and  a  hysterical  girl. 

"  You  are  treading  the  broad  way,"  she  said  in  con- 
clusion, "  that  leadeth  unto  destruction.  There  can  be 
no  hope  for  you,  either  in  this  world  or  that  which  is 
to  come,  until  you  recognize  your  sin  and  turn  unto 
the  Lord.  You  have  recognized  your  sin  I  hope  and 
think,  but  have  you  turned  unto  the  Lord  ?  Have  you 
laid  your  burden  upon  Him  ?  It  has  been  my  prayer 
night  and  morning  that  you  might  see  the  error  of  your 
ways  and  turn  your  heart  unto  the  wisdom  of  the  just. 
Until  you  do  this,  until  I  have  full  proof  of  your  con- 
version, I  cannot  intercede  for  you  with  your  father,  now 
justly  incensed  at  your  conduct ;  for  until  you  are  con- 
verted I  can  have  no  assurance  that  you  will  not  be  %, 
backslider  at  the  first  onset  of  Satan." 


GRUB  STREET,  W.  C.  339 

These  letters  had  precisely  the  contrary  effect  upon 
Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  to  that,  which  his  well-intentioned 
relatives  had  designed.  Instead  of  bringing  him  to  his 
knees  by  their  severity,  they  stung  him  by  their  injustice 
and  awoke  the  obstinacy,  which  was  so  deeply  in- 
grained in  his  character.  They  acted  as  a  fillip  to  his 
self-confidence,  which  had  lately  been  almost  crushed 
out  of  him  by  adversity.  He  had  no  friend  in  the 
world !  His  own  father  turned  against  him  !  His 
allowance  was  withdrawn. 

Very  well.  He  would  show  them  all  that  he  could 
get  on  admirably  without  friends.  He  would  make  his 
cantankerous  father  understand  once  for  all,  that  he 
was  not  dependent  upon  the  charity  that  he  chose  to 
dole  out.  He  was  not  a  fool,  nor  a  cripple  ;  he  had  a 
good  headpiece  and  a  sturdy  pair  of  hands.  Why 
should  he  not  earn  his  own  living  and  snap  his  fingers 
at  them  all  ?  People  are  always  more  inclined  to  do 
you  a  service  if  they  know  that  you  have  no  vital  need 
of  it.  When  he  had  achieved  prosperity  on  his  own 
account,  they  would  all  be  on  their  knees  to  him  and 
it  would  be  for  him  to  dictate  his  own  terms.  His 
father  would  come  to  him  and  "  humbly  bring  pieces 
of  silver "  and  Gwendolen  too,  like  the  rest  of  them, 
would  bow  her  head  to  the  risen  sun. 

She  took  too  much  upon  her,  silly  girl,  but  when  he 
had  trampled  upon  his  enemies  and  his  false  friends 
and  was  in  the  flowing  tide  of  prosperity  again,  she 
would  recognize  that  he  had  been  right  after  all. 
Would  she? — He  stopped  himself  in  the  torrent  of 
indignation  and  wounded  vanity.  No,  no.  Gwendolen 
was  not  like  that.  His  fair-weather  friends  would  no 
doubt  be  veered  round  to  him  again  by  a  triumph  of 
this  sort,  by  the  proof  that  he  was  self-sufficing.  Cory- 
ton,  with  whom  he  was  now  en  delicatesse,  would  fawn 
upon  him  all  the  more  and  make  fresh  proffers  of  doing 
dirty  work  ;  Williams  and  Wilmot  and  the  rest  of  them 
would  trust  him  with  a  respect,  which  they  had  never 
feigned ;  and  his  father's  commercial  instincts  would 
be  flattered  by  a  proof  of  worldly  wisdom  after  his  own 
heart. 

But  Gwendolen  was  not  like  that.    It  would  be  as 


340  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

ridiculous  as  it  was  unjust  to  speak  of  her  in  the 
same  breath  with  worldliness  or  material  considera- 
tions. She  was  one  of  those  rare  few,  of  whom  it 
could  really  be  said  otherwise  than  as  a  figure  of 
speech,  that  she  would  rather  starve  than  swerve 
one  hair's  breadth  from  what  she  thought  to  be  her 
duty.  If  he  made  a  million  in  a  week,  saved  the 
country  from  invasion,  or  were  appointed  Prime 
Minister  to-morrow,  he  knew  full  well  that  it  would 
not  prepossess  her  one  iota  in  his  favor.  Alas!  he 
feared  that  she  was  indeed  lost  to  him,  if  not  even 
success  could  pave  his  way  back  to  her  heart.  Still, 
he  contended,  eager  to  see  wisdom  in  the  course  of 
action  he  had  decided  to  pursue,  success  would  give 
him  a  foothold  from  which  to  approach  Gwendolen. 
That  canting  old  aunt,  for  instance,  would  be  among 
the  first  to  make  her  peace  with  him  and  she  would 
be  an  invaluable  ally  for  arguing  with  Gwendolen  in 
her  own  line  of  country.  And  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles 
would  nag  for  him  till  she  was  blue  in  the  face,  if  he 
could  make  any  show  of  worldly  prosperity.  So  true 
is  it  that  "  to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,  and  from 
him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  even  that  which  he 
hath." 

Having  made  up  his  mind,  the  difficulty  was  how 
to  put  the  resolve  into  execution.  He  had  always  had 
the  profoundest  contempt  for  poor  devils,  who  profess 
themselves  anxious  for  honest  work  but  declare  they 
can't  find  any,  who  are  forever  proclaiming  their  readi- 
ness to  do  "  anything,"  but  who  all  the  while  mean  by 
the  phrase  that  they  are  capable  of  doing  nothing. 
But  when  he  came  to  consider  the  matter  from  a 
personal  point  of  view,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  see  where 
the  bread  and  butter  was  to  come  from,  to  say  nothing 
of  short  cuts  to  wealth.  He  could  not  dig.  He  knew 
nothing  of  business, — nor  even  of  finance.  His  pride 
debarred  him  from  dependent  or  semi-menial  employ- 
ment, such  as  a  secretaryship  or  tutorship.  The  unex- 
pectedness and  urgency  of  the  situation  made  any  of 
the  so-called  learned  professions  out  of  the  question. 
So,  like  most  persons  in  a  similar  plight,  he  drifted 
into  journalism,  with  the  mistaken  idea  that  it  was  the 


GRUB  STREET,  TF.  C.  341 

high  road  to  affluence  and  influence,  and  that  it  was 
compatible  with  independence,  self-respect  and  even 
common  honesty. 

He  had  abilities  above  the  average  and  had  acquired 
a  varied,  if  desultory  education.  He  might  be  said  to 
know  a  little  about  everything,  though  not  everything 
about  one  thing,  as  somebody  or  other  advised  young 
men  to  do.  But  he  had  never  read  books  from  the 
point  of  view  of  one  who  may  have  to  write  them  and, 
though  he  could  criticise,  he  could  not  create.  Still 
less  had  he  acquired  the  technique  of  writing  articles, 
the  art  of  dressing  up  commonplaces  to  rill  the  role  of 
oracular  verities,  the  word  juggling  that  passes  current 
for  epigram,  nor  the  affectations  that  stand  sponsors 
for  originality  of  style.  Moreover,  he  was  handicapped 
with  principles  and  a  soul  of  his  own  and  felt  a  great 
repugnance  towards  hiring  out  his  pen  as  an  advocate 
hires  out  his  tongue. 

He  had  begun  by  writing  solemn,  heavy  articles  on 
solemn,  heavy  subjects,  fortified  by  research  in  the 
British  Museum  and  an  array  of  classical  quotation. 
The  style  was  as  pedantic  as  Dr.  Johnson,  as  unintel- 
ligible as  Carlyle  and  as  inconsequential  as  Ruskin. 
Conceive  a  thousand  volumes  of  the  Quarterly  Review 
rolled  into  one  and  you  have  a  faint  idea  of  the  heavi- 
ness of  the  treatise  he  began  by  sending  off  to  a  weekly 
journal,  which  prided  itself  upon  its  sparkling  mo- 
dernity. 

It  was  a  very  laborious  business  grinding  out  his 
articles,  and  he  scarcely  accomplished  more  than  one, 
some  three  thousand  words  in  length,  each  week. 
They  were  not  without  cleverness  ;  they  were  infinitely 
polished  ;  they  had  certain  touches  of  character,  which, 
properly  dished  up,  would  have  been  applauded  as 
original.  But  he  did  not  know  the  grooves  to  which 
editors  are  accustomed ;  he  had  no  discrimination 
about  the  style  and  subjects  suitable  to  each  paper ; 
and  he  would  never  stoop  to  adapt  his  writing  to  the 
audience  he  had  in  view.  Here  it  was,  the  best  he 
could  do.  If  they  didn't  like  it,  let  them  do  without 
it  and  he  would  offer  it  elsewhere.  They  must  take  it 
or  leave  it,  hoity-toity,  confound  it  all ! 


342  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

The  result  was,  that  they  did  leave  it.  He  Clod- 
ded on  and  sent  off  neat  bundles  of  manuscript  by 
registered  post  to  various  editors  with  polite  notes 
and  stamps  "  for  return  if  unsuitable."  Sometimes  the 
editor  kept  the  stamps  and  destroyed  the  manu- 
script ;  at  other  times,  strangely  conscientious,  he 
returned  it  with  a  printed  formula,  expressive  of 
compliments  and  thanks.  Then  Tyrconnel  would 
write  another  polite  little  note,  enclose  more  stamps 
and  post  his  parcel  off  by  registered  post  to  some 
other  editor.  No  article  was  ever  accepted,  but  each 
eventually  found  its  way  to  some  editorial  waste-paper 
basket  and  was  lost,  for  he  never  kept  a  copy  of  his 
work. 

After  his  father  had  stopped  his  allowance,  Tyr- 
connel had  realized  the  necessity  of  minute  economy 
and,  though  of  all  things  the  idea  was  most  distaste- 
ful to  him,  he  determined  to  grapple  with  it.  At  his 
marriage  his  father  had  made  no  settlement  upon  him 
but,  while  fixing  a  very  liberal  allowance,  had  given 
him  to  understand  that  he  might  draw  upon  him  to 
any  extent  within  reason. 

The  result  had  been  that  Tyrconnel  never  kept  any 
accounts  nor  troubled  about  keeping  any  particular 
balance  at  his  banker's.  When  Gwendolen  had  inter- 
fered with  his  enjoyment  of  Paris  during  the  honey- 
moon, it  was  not  from  any  need  of  economy,  but 
because  she  considered  it  sinful  to  waste  money  on 
mere  physical  pleasures.  His  losses  at  Monte  Carlo 
and  Sally's  requirements  had,  however,  made  a  large 
hole  in  what  remained  of  his  last  quarter's  allowance 
and,  after  paying  his  bill  in  Half-Moon  Street  he  found 
he  was  only  worth  some  fifty  pounds  in  the  world. 

This  did  not,  however,  greatly  take  him  aback. 
He  had  a  notion,  like  most  people  who  have  never 
tried  it,  that  economy  is  perfectly  easy  if  you  only 
make  up  your  mind  to  cut  your  garment  according 
to  your  cloth.  Fifty  pounds  he  was  sure  would  last 
a  long  time  with  proper  precautions,  certainly  much 
longer  than  it  would  be  necessary  to  wait  until  he 
could  be  earning  his  living.  His  first  idea  of  proper 
precautions  was  to  remove  to  what  is  known  as  "  a 


GRUB  STREET,  W.  C.  343 

cheaper  neighborhood."  On  the  theory  that  what  ought 
to  be,  is,  most  people  are  firmly  convinced  that  dirty, 
badly-furnished  accommodation  in  a  squalid,  remote 
or  unfashionable  part  of  London  is  necessarily  very 
much  cheaper  than  to  live  in  cleanliness  and  comfort 
in  Saint  James's  or  Mayfair. 

There  can  be  no  greater  delusion.  Each  neigh- 
borhood has  its  cheap  and  its  extortionate,  its  miserable 
and  its  comfortable,  its  pretentious  and  its  common- 
place accommodation,  whether  it  be  houses,  flats  or 
apartments. 

The  lodging-house  fiend  is  the  same  everywhere: 
coelum  non  animum  mutat,  when  he  changes  from  Park 
Street,  Grosvenor  Square,  to  Park  Road,  Regent's  Park, 
from  Bayswater  to  Belgravia.  The  only  difference  is 
that  you  are  very  much  more  uncomfortable  in  the 
more  barbarous  parts  and  that  anything  you  may  save 
in  the  way  of  rent  is  more  than  counter-balanced  by 
the  addition  to  your  cab-fares. 

This  Tyrconnel  soon  found  out  and  he  saw  his 
fifty  pounds  melting  away  much  faster  than  he  liked. 
As  we  have  seen,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world, 
he  often  broke  down  under  the  sordid  discomfort  of 
bad  food  and  filthy  surroundings.  That  meant  going 
out  to  a  restaurant — first  his  old  haunts  in  Regent 
Street  and  Piccadilly,  then  nasty  Italian  eating-houses 
in  Oxford  Street  and  the  Strand,  where  he  scarcely 
fared  better  than  at  home.  And  that  meant  spending 
more  money. 

Still  he  did  not  lose  heart  but  persevered  with  his 
writing,  flattering  himself  that,  as  soon  as  one  article 
was  accepted,  he  would  catch  the  knack  of  the  business 
and  get  into  the  swim  straight  away. 

One  afternoon  he  met  Creeper-Crawley  in  the  Strand, 
who  being  ignorant  of  his  quarrel  with  his  father, 
greeted  him  with  great  effusion. 

Inspired  by  this  cordiality,  Tyrconnel  began  to 
discuss  journalism  with  him  volubly. 

"  My  dear  Tyrconnel,"  said  Creeper-Crawley  with 
some  surprise  and  a  trifle  less  enthusiasm,  "you're 
on  the  wrong  tack  altogether.  It's  not  a  question  of 
doing  good  work ;  it's  a  question  of  nobbling  editors. 


344  THE  GREEN  HAY  TliEE. 

You  should  never,  never — do  you  hear,  never — write  an 
article  unless  it  is  accepted  in  advance  and  even  then 
only  if  you  know  for  certain  that  the  editor  isn't  a 
bigger  liar  than  most  of  them.  I  am  sorry  I  can  he  of 
no  use  to  you.  You  should  go  and  call  on  the  Editor 
of  The  Normny  Pump.  Tell  him  you're  the  son  of 
Lord  Baltinglass  and  are  going  to  stand  for  Parliament, 
and  that  you  will  he  glad  to  do  him  a  series  of  leading 
articles  on  the  financial  stability  of  the  agricultural 
laborer." 

"  But  T  don't  know  anything  about  the  agricultural 
laborer." 

"  All  the  better.  You'll  be  able  to  approach  the  sub- 
ject impartially.  Failing  him,  I  should  go  and  see 
Cincinnati!*  Spreadeagle.  lie  runs  a  rag  subsidized 
by  the  party  and  would  no  doubt  be  delighted  to  share 
the  pickings  with  you." 

Next  day  Tyrconnel  walked  wearily  down  to  the 
Strand  and,  after  much  inquiry  from  its  discourteous 
frequenters,  found  his  way  at  last  to  the  offices  of 
Britain,  where  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  presently 
received  him  in  a  small  and  grimy  editorial  room.  He 
looked  curiously  at  his  visitor  and  mentally  noted  the 
falling  off  in  smartness  and  assurance,  now  only  too 
evident  in  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel.  With  the  instinct  of 
his  kind,  the  editor  altered  his  tone  correspondingly. 
The  unctuous  welcome,  which  he  had  prepared  when 
he  received  Tyrconnel's  card,  died  away  unuttered  on 
his  lips.  lie  did  not  rise  from  his  seat,  but  airily 
motioned  the  young  man  to  a  hard  chair  by  the  wall, 
saying  unsympathetically, 

"  Well,  Tyrconnel,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  I'm  a 
busy  man,  as  you  see." 

Tyrconnel  had  no  fight  left  in  him  to  resent  this 
insolence,  but  asked  meekly, 

"I — I  wanted  to  know  whether  you'd  take  a  few 
articles  from  me." 

"  Sorry  I  haven't  much  space  to  offer  you.  Most 
of  our  articles  are  done  in  the  office.  But  if  you 
('are  to  send  in  anything,  I'll  give  it  my  best  considera- 
tion." 

This  was  not  very  encouraging,  but  Tyrconnel  was 


GRUB  STREET,  W.  C.  345 

sufficiently  desperate  to  persevere,  and  he  went  on  to 
suggest  various  subjects  for  articles.  Sir  Cincinnatus 
pooh-poohed  most  of  them,  saying  laconically  that  they 
had  been  done  before.  Then  he  rose  and  terminated 
the  interview  unceremoniously,  saying, 

"  You  must  excuse  me  now.  Send  anything  you 
like." 

"  What  do  you  pay  for  articles  ?  "  stammered  Tyr- 
connel  uncomfortably  as  he  fumbled  for  his  hat. 

Sir  Cincinnatus's  face  grew  even  more  unsympa- 
thetic than  usual. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  subsist  mostly  on  voluntary  contribu- 
tions," he  said  with  a  brutal  laugh ;  "  but  surely  you 
haven't  come  down  to  penny-a-lining.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  though,"  he  added  after  a  pause.  "  If  you  want 
to  make  a  few  half-crowns,  you  can  do  me  some  bright 
pars  on  topical  subjects.  There's  that  fellow  Coryton, 
for  instance, — rising  man,  I'm  told.  You  used  to 
know  him,  didn't  you?  Knock  me  up  a  few  spicy  pars 

about  him What,  won't  you?  "  he  exclaimed  in 

surprise,  seeing  that  Tyrconnel  had  taken  his  hat  and 
was  making  his  way  down  the  perpendicular  staircase 
without  a  word.  "  Well,  well,  penny-a-liners  mustn't 
be  choosers.  That'll  teach  me  not  to  try  philanthropy 
again  in  a  hurry,  if  that's  all  the  thanks  I  get  for  try- 
ing to  do  a  poor  beggar  a  good  turn." 


346  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    CROWX    OF    BAY    LEAVES. 

To  be  famous  when  you  are  young  is  the  gift  of  the  gods. — 
B.  DISRAEL.I  :  Tan c red. 

Behold,  my  son,  with  how  little  wisdom  the  world  is  governed. 
— OXEXSTIERX. 

"  'Tis  the  critical  debate  of  the  session,"  said  the 
Prime  Minister  musingly. 

He  was  sitting  astride  a  hard  cane-bottomed  chair 
in  the  whip's  room  ;  Lord  Southwark  sat  on  the  table 
and  dangled  his  legs  uncomfortably  ;  Creeper  Crawl ey 
and  the  whips  were  ranged  uneasily  against  the  wall. 
Meanwhile  Lord  Rupert  Cameron  lay  stretched  at  full 
length  on  the  one  sofa,  which  the  room  contained, 
lazily  puffing  the  blue  smoke  of  his  cigarette  towards 
the  ceiling. 

"  The  only  critical  part  about  it,"  said  Lord  Rupert 
grumpily,  "  is  how  those  ten  labor  beggars  are  going 
to  vote.  If  they  support  the  bill,  we  are  in  a  majority ; 
if  they  vote  against  it,  we  are  spoofed." 

"What  do  they  want?"  asked  Lord  Southwark, 
with  an  affectation  of  ignorance. 

"  Payment  of  members  out  of  the  secret  service 
fund,"  came  a  gruff  voice  from  the  sofa. 

"  Have  you  made  out  what  they  want,  Crawley  ?"  the 
Prime  Minister  asked,  ignoring  the  voice  from  the  sofa. 

"  It's  the  '  Beer  and  Buns  '  clause,  my  Lord.  They 
supported  us  on  the  second  reading  of  the  bill,  because 
we  went  in  for  free  breakfasts  in  board  schools  as  well 
as  the  free  education  which  was  all  the  old  man  would 
promise  them.  Now  Snorthorse  is  going  to  give  them 
the  support  of  the  opposition  for  a  clause  to  provide 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  347 

free  Beer  and  Buns  for  Board  School  children  at  eleven 
o'clock  every  morning." 

"  Oh !  for  an  hour  in  the  House  of  Commons ! " 
sighed  the  Prime  Minister  to  himself. 

At  this  moment  the  penetrating  ping  of  the  electric 
bell  sounded  through  the  lobbies,  into  the  library  and 
the  smoking-room  and  on  into  the  room  of  the  Con- 
servative Whips,  where  it  roused  Lord  Rupert  Cam- 
eron with  a  start  from  the  snooze  he  had  been  feigning 
during  Creeper-Crawley's  explanation. 

"  Speaker's  in  the  chair,"  he  growled  as  the  AVhips 
trooped  off  to  attend  to  their  quarries ;  "  now  the 
job'll  be  to  get  him  out  again." 

It  was  not  to  be  one  of  those  show  debates,  when 
country  cousins  come  up  "  to  hear  the  old  man  speak  " 
and  members  with  slender  majorities  devote  long 
profitless  hours  to  balloting  for  seats  in  the  strangers' 
gallery  for  their  constituents.  Yet  there  was  some- 
thing of  that  electric  feeling  in  the  air,  which  betokens 
a  government  crisis,  and  opinions  were  pretty  evenly 
divided  in  the  lobby  as  to  whether  the  government 
would  survive  the  motion  to  go  into  committee  on  the 
Free  Food  and  Education  Bill.  The  subject  had 
aroused  a  certain  amount  of  interest  -in  the  country, 
rather  because  it  concerned  the  life  of  the  government 
and  the  prospects  of  a  dissolution  than  for  any  concern 
about  the  provisions  of  the  bill:  Mr.  Beer  Hardup 
had  given  notice  of  an  instruction  to  the  Committee 
on  the  subject  of  free  beer  and  buns ;  Mr.  Grit,  the 
one  respectable  labor  member,  had  undertaken  to 
second  him,  and  it  was  rumored  that  he  would  receive 
the  support  of  the  whole  official  opposition,  excepting 
the  late  Prime  Minister  and  a  few  of  his  colleagues  of 
cabinet  rank,  who  would  shirk  responsibility  by  leav- 
ing the  House  without  voting. 

At  the  period  I  speak  of  the  country  was  governed 
by  an  Opportunist  party,  which  had  usurped  the 
name  without  acquiring  the  reputation  of  the  ancient 
Tory  party.  With  that  Government  the  gilded  goal 
was  permanency  in  office;  the  only  notion  of  state- 
craft to  purloin  and  exaggerate  the  measures  of  the 
Opposition  •,  and  the  only  passport  to  their  good 


348  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

graces  was  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  the  Spirit 
of  the  Age.  It  is  now  so  long  since  the  country 
has  known  a  real  Tory  party  or  beheld  high  principles 
in  any  party  that  it  may  well  be  excused  for  agnosti- 
cism about  all  political  virtue.  After  the  betrayal  of 
the  country  party  by  Peel  in  1856  and  their  yet  more 
shameful  betrayal  by  their  own  leader  in  1868,  how 
could  any  sane  man  ever  repose  confidence  in  a  party 
leader  again  ? 

This  at  least  was  what  the  Tory  Cave  of  Adullam 
was  now  muttering  in  the  lobbies  and  the  clubs. 
Their  strength  and  their  determination  no  man  knew, 
not  even  the  omniscient  Whips  with  their  hundred 
eyes.  But  the  fact  of  their  discontent  was  no  longer  a 
secret.  The  Whips  were  beginning  to  get  frightened. 
And,  when  the  Whips  get  frightened,  the  Ministry  has 
to  cast  about  for  concessions.  The  difficulty  about 
concessions  just  now  was  that  two  groups  wanted 
them  in  conflicting  directions  and  that,  unless  both 
were  satisfied,  the  bill  could  not  pass. 

The  Cave's  view  of  Toryism  was  what  Harold 
Gaverigan,  now  a  high-and-dry  Tory  candidate  for  a 
north-country  constituency,  was  urging  upon  Coryton, 
from  his  privileged  seat  under  the  gallery.  Coryton 
was  shrugging  his  shoulders  in  his  inimitable  way  and 
had  begun  his  stock  formula  of  inquiry,  "  Principles ! 
What  are  they?"  preliminarily  to.  answering  himself 
with  a  choice  epigram,  when  the  door-keeper  crept  up 
along  the  narrow  gangway  below  the  bar  of  the  House 
and  handed  him  a  card  bearing  the  name  of  Mr.  Artful 
Cadger. 

"  Principles,"  said  Coryton,  rising  to  depart,  "  are 
the  bastards  of  Conscience  and  derive  their  complex- 
ion from  the  keeper — for  the  time  being — of  that  lady 
of  catholic  tastes.  Here  is  the  card  of  the  keeper  of 
my  conscience,  so  I  must  be  off.  See  you  again. 
Ta-ta!" 

"  A  conscience  is  a  very  useful  servant  but  a  hard 
mistress,"  said  Gaverigan  with  a  smile  which  re- 
mained on  his  lips  as  he  watched  the  other  start  off 
down  the  gangway,  bow  to  the  Speaker  with  more 
than  the  carelessness  of  an  old  member  and  disappear 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  349 

among  the  little  knot  of  persons  standing  just  inside 
the  door  of  the  chamber. 

It  was  question  time,  and  the  House  had  not  filled 
yet,  but  the  lobbies  were  full  and  animated,  with  the 
sort  of  buzz  of  expectation  and  speculation,  which 
hovers  about  a  racecourse  before  a  big  event. 

"I've  seen  two  or  three  members  of  the  Cave," 
Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  was  saying  oracularly  to 
an  admiring  audience,  consisting  of  the  staunch 
Blunder  Cable  and  the  faithful  Plantagenet-Unkels, 
who  had  come  up  all  the  way  from  Balham  to  hear 
the  debate.  "  I've  seen  two  or  three  members  of  the 
Cave  just  now  in  the  lavatory  and  I  am  convinced  they 
mean  mischief." 

"Pish!"  said  Toadey-Snaile,  whose  business  it  was 
always  to  overhear  everything.  "  They've  swallowed 
the  free  breakfasts.  It's  all  rot  to  say  they'll  strain  at 
the  Beer  and  Buns  clause." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  the  Government's  going  to 
accept  that  clause?"  gasped  Blunder  Cable,  feeling 
uncomfortable  about  angry  meetings  of  ratepayers 
among  the  free  and  independent  of  Hounslow  and  half 
wishing  he  had  not  pledged  himself  so  uncompromis- 
ingly against  the  principle  of  free  food. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  returned  Toadey-Snaile,  who 
had  reasons  of  his  own  for  wishing  to  know  how  the 
other  would  take  such  a  determination  on  the  part  of 
the  Government. 

"  Well,  they  mean  mischief,"  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spread- 
eagle  interrupted  him  with  tiresome  iteration,  "  they 
vow  they  have  principles,  protest  that  there  are  other 
considerations  beside  party,  are  not  prepared  to  swal- 
low anything — 

"  In  the  same  generous  way  that  Sir  Cincinnatus  is," 
said  Toadey-Snaile  with  a  mock  bow,  completing  the 
sentence  for  him  and  passing  on  into  the  House. 

Coryton  stopped  for  a  few  moments  to  talk  to  Mr. 
Holloway  Pother,  who  was  on  his  way  to  talk  to 
Gaverigan  under  the  gallery.  "  Well,  Mr.  Pother," 
said  Coryton  in  the  hearty  manner  he  always  adopted 
towards  people  reputed  to  be  genial,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  the  Stale  Buns  clause?  " 


350  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TKEE. 

"  Eh  !  dearie  me !  "  said  the  venerable  Free  Trader, 
stroking  one  of  his  chins  and  screwing  up  his  eyes 
merrily,  "  is  that  what  you  call  it  ?  Well,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  am  in  rather  a  fix  about  it.  I've  spent  two 
hours  in  the  library  over  Cobden's  works  trying  to 
make  out  what  would  have  been  his  view  on  the  sub- 
ject. But  such  a  thing  was  never  contemplated  in  his 
day  and  I  can't  find  anything  to  guide  me.  If  it 
weren't  for  the  Temperance  people,  I  should  be  inclined 
to  support  it.  But  good  beer's  so  hard  to  get  nowa- 
days. One  doesn't  know  what  to  say." 

Corytoii  passed  on  to  the  outer  lobby,  where  a 
policeman  called  out  his  name  in  stentorian  tones  for 
the  edification  of  a  line  of  strangers,  who  looked  very 
weary  with  the  long  waiting  that  is  always  exacted  of 
those  who  come  to  visit  their  legislators  in  the  cham- 
ber, probably  to  impress  them  with  the  busy  and 
important  character  of  the  place.  Among  the  stran- 
gers Coryton  recognized  Mr.  Rupert  Clifford,  who  had 
come  to  ask  an  Irish  member  to  present  a  petition 
against  the  Act  of  Settlement.  He  had  only  time  to 
nod  to  the  modern  Jacobite  before  Mr.  Cadger  ad- 
vanced to  claim  his  attention. 

That  gentleman  seemed  somewhat  awed  by  his  sur- 
roundings, in  spite  of  the  assurance  conveyed  by  a 
tight-fitting  frock-coat  and  a  brown  bowler  hat,  not  to 
mention  a  selection  of  paste-diamond  rings  which  he 
wore  outside  his  bright  yellow  gloves.  The  process  of 
waiting  and  the  insolence  of  the  police,  which  would 
have  irritated  Mr.  Cadger  anywhere  else,  served  to 
impress  and  subdue  him  in  these  lofty  halls,  whose 
atmosphere  of  sham  antiquity  has  often  served  to  over- 
awe many  a  more  hardened  patriot  than  even  Mr. 
Cadger.  Coryton  took  him  aside  into  the  lobby  which 
leads  to  the  strangers'  refreshment  bar,  and  they  sat 
down  together  on  a  leather  seat  facing  a  picture  of  Monk 
declaring  for  a  free  parliament. 

Mr.  Cadger  wanted  a  great  many  things. 

In  the  first  place  he  wanted  a  pledge  that  Coryton 
would  vote  for  the  Beer  and  Buns  clause,  and  he  began 
to  bluster  a  good  deal  when  his  representative  coolly 
informed  him  that  he  should  be  guided  by  events.  Mr. 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  351 

Cadger  talked  of  pledges ;  Mr.  Coryton  replied  that 
courtship  was  a  period  of  greater  freedom  and  less 
responsibility  than  matrimony.  Mr.  Cadger  hinted  at 
a  vote  of  censure  in  the  Wat  Tyler  Club  ;  Mr.  Coryton 
indulged  in  generalities  on  a  member's  duty  to  his  con- 
stituents as  a  whole.  Mr.  Cadger  swore  that  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Wat  Tyler  Club  was  not  to  be  trifled  with .; 
Mr.  Coryton  threw  out  mysterious  hints  at  other  means 
of  meeting  his  constituent's  desires. 

In  the  second  place  Mr.  Cadger  wanted  money.  He 
was  Treasurer  as  well  as  President  of  the  Wat 
Tyler  Club,  and  the  club's  finances  were  now  at  low- 
water  mark.  The  club  wanted  a  billiard-table  and 
some  additions  to  its  cellars.  Would  Mr.  Coryton 
contribute  fifty  pounds  towards  them?  Well  then, 
five-arid- twenty  ?  Surely  that  was  not  too  much  to 
ask  after  all  the  club  had  done  to  secure  his  elec- 
tion !  Coryton  flung  the  man  the  stock  phrase  about 
the  stringency  of  the  Corrupt  Practices  Act,  as  one 
might  fling  a  bone  to  a  dog,  but  Mr.  Cadger's  sense  of 
justice  was  outraged. 

"  You  ain't  spoke  to  me  like  that,"  he  protested, 
"when  you  druv  me  from  the  Markiss  o'  Granby  to 
the  Blue  Badger  on  the  day  of  the  'lection.  I  said 
that  letter  you  showed  me  were  all  werry  foine  an' 
that  in  course  we  was  patriots  an'  all  that  koind  o' 
thing,  but  that  we  was  pore  men  an'  'ad  ter  think  on 
ourselves  fust.  An'  you  sez,  sez  you,  that  were  quite 
roight.  An'  I  sez,  'Now  come,  deal  fair  with  me 
and  oi'll  deal  fair  with  you ;  wot'll  yer  stand  us  if  we 
gits  yer  in  ? '  An'  you  sez,  '  B'leev'  me,  Mr.  Cadger, 
yer'll  not  foind  me  backurd  in  doin'  the  'andsome 
thing,  if  yer  gits  me  in.'  Well  now,  we  'ey  got 
yer  in,  an'  if  yer  calls  yerself  a  gentleman  yer 
won't  go  back  on  yer  word  now.  Wot  me  an'  moy 
mates  wants  ter  know  is,  are  yer  or  are  yer  not 
goin'  to  do  the  'andsome  boy  us  naow  ?  Yes  or  no  ?  " 

Mr.  Cadger  was  raising  his  voice  unpleasantly  loud 
and  Coryton  could  see  the  ill-favored  eyes  of  Mr.  Beer 
Hardup  watching  him  curiously  from  the  lobby.  So 
he  smiled  his  most  bewitching  smile  and  said  in  his 
most  dulcet  tones  : 


352 '  THU  GREEN  SA  Y  TREL\ 

"My  dear  Mr.  Cadger,  you  must  not  let  your  imagina- 
tion run  away  with  you  like  that.  Of  course  I  mean 
to  treat  you  handsomely.  How  could  any  one  treat  so 
line  a  fellow  otherwise  ?  I  have  to  be  running  off  to 
the  debate  in  a  moment,  but  I  cannot  deny  myself  the 
pleasure  of  offering  you  some  slight  refreshment  after 
your  walk." 

<•'•  Refreshment  be  d d !  "  said  Mr.  Cadger  curtly ; 

"a  foiver's  the  werry  least  as'll  satisfoy  me.  Come 
now "  (whining),  "  yer  won't  be  so  'ard  on  a  pore 
man  as  to  refuse  'im  a  foiver  arter  all  'e's  done  for 
yer." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  won't  take  any  refreshment," 
replied  Cory  ton,  without  turning  a  hair.  "  I  must  be 
leaving  you  now,  as  the  debate  has  begun.  Let  me 
know  if  I  can  serve  you  at  any  time." 

"  Serve  me !  I'll  serve  yer  in  a  way  yer  won't  like," 
growled  Mr.  Cadger  between  his  teeth. 

But  Coryton  was  already  lounging  back  through  the 
lobby,  as  unruffled  as  possible.  He  exchanged  another 
word  with  Mr.  Rupert  Clifford,  who  was  still  waiting 
for  his  Irish  member,  and  then  made  his  way  up  to  the 
ladies'  gallery,  where  Violet,  with  Lady  Elizabeth 
Gargoyle,  Theodora  and  Lady  Giddy,  had  secured  the 
best  seats  in  the  front  row  by  the  cage.  Questions 
were  just  over,  and  the  Vice-President  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  the  Council  had  got  through  the  opening 
sentences  of  his  speech. 

He  was  aware,  he  said,  that  great  diversity  of  opin- 
ion existed  as  to  the  details  of  this  Bill,  not  only 
among  honorable  gentlemen  opposite,  where  diversity 
of  opinion  was  chronic,  but  also  among  his  honorable 
friends,  where  it  was  almost  unknown.  However,  he 
hoped  that  by  a  little  timely  concession  he  would  be 
able  so  to  modify  the  Bill  that  it  might  commend  itself 
to  all  sections  of  the  House.  This,  it  appeared,  he  pro- 
posed to  do  by  a  compromise,  which,  like  most  com- 
promises, only  served  to  alienate  everybody. 

The  Tory  Cave  had  consented,  after  much  pressure 
from  the  Whips,  to  vote  for  a  Bill  embodying  free 
breakfasts,  but  they  had  protested — and,  what  is  more, 
meant  it, — that  nothing  on  earth  should  induce  them 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  353 

to .  concede  another  iota.  The  Independent  Labor 
Party,  on  the  other  hand,  had  protested,  with  equal 
emphasis  and  in  less  measured  language,  that  nothing 
less  would  satisfy  them  than  free  beer  and  buns  at 
eleven  also.  They  vowed  they  marvelled  at  their  own 
moderation  in  not  demanding  more. 

"When  therefore  the  Minister  coolly  proposed  a 
compromise  which  would  increase  the  breakfasts  but 
not  provide  a  second  meal,  he  only  succeeded  in 
exasperating  the  Tory  Cave,  which  had  already  gone 
beyond  the  limits  laid  down  by  their  conscience,  while 
he  provided  the  Labor  Party  with  the  excuse  they 
desired  for  refusing  the  gifts  that  came  from  the 
Greeks.  There  were  murmurs  from  below  the  Min- 
isterial gangway,  which  kept  increasing  in  intensity 
and  volume  as  the  Minister  developed  his  proposals ; 
the  murmurs  found  echo  among  the  Labor  Party 
opposite,  where  peal  followed  peal  of  derisive  laughter, 
until  the  Minister  could  scarcely  make  his  voice  heard 
above  the  hubbub. 

It  was  not  a  defeat,  it  was  a  rout,  and  the  word 
went  round  the  House  that  the  doom  of  the  Govern- 
ment was  sealed.  The  Irish  members  raised  a  psean  of 
exultation  and,  as  the  Minister's  speech  came  to  an 
abrupt  termination,  they  leaped  upon  the  seats  and 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  and  were  only  sorry  that 
they  had  not  shillelaghs  with  them  in  order  to  mark 
their  joy  by  cracking  a  few  crowns. 

Cory  ton  surveyed  the  scene  with  a  vain  attempt 
at  calmness.  His  face  lighted  up  with  an  intuition  of 
coming  triumph.  He  caught  his  wife's  eye  and  smiled. 
Both  felt  that  his  hour  had  come. 

"Shall  you  speak  to-night,  Mr.  Coryton?"  asked 
Lady  Elizabeth  Gargoyle  carelessly,  as  he  prepared 
to  leave  them. 

"  He  is  going  down  to  save  the  Government,"  said 
Violet  with  a  seriousness  that  made  the  others  smile. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  Quite  heroic,"  sneered  Lady 
Giddy,  who  had  never  quite  forgiven  Coryton  for 
getting  married.  "Almost  another  Quintus  Curtius 
isn't  he  ?  " 

Meanwhile  it  seemed  as  if  the  Independent  Labor. 
23 


354  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

Party  had  only  to  advance  and  occupy  the  enemy's 
positions.  Beer  Hardup  moved  his  instruction  to  the 
Committee  in  a  short  and  vigorous  speech  and,  with 
an  ambitious  attempt  at  pathos,  dwelt  upon  the  hard- 
ship of  compelling  children  to  attend  school  all  day  and 
denying  them  beer  and  buns  at  eleven.  He  concluded 
by  saying,  amid  ringing  cheers  from  his  colleagues, 
that  their  watchword  was  No  surrender!  and  their 
duty  to  make  no  compromise.  The  motion  was 
conded  by  Mr.  Grit  in  the  briefest  possible  terms, 
which,  as  Colonel  Bally  waiter  whispered  to  Mr.  Toadey- 
Snaile,  was  just  as  well,  for  the  man  spoke  no  in- 
telligible language,  not  even  his  own. 

By  this  time  the  rout  seemed  to  have  become 
general.  The  Ministerialists,  sullen  and  dismayed, 
looked  as  if  they  would  have  liked  to  fling  away 
their  Orders  of  the  Day,  or  whatever  does  duty,  in 
a  parliamentary  battle,  for  chassepots,  and  take  to 
flight  at  once.  Sir  Cincinnatus  Spreadeagle  stepped 
into  the  breach  and  was  received  with  tumultuous 
cries  of  "  Divide  ! "  not  only  from  the  Opposition  but, 
with  even  greater  violence,  from  the  Tory  Cave.  His 
speech  (already  type-written  and  liberally  distributed 
in  the  reporters'  gallery,  punctuated  with  "  Cheers  ") 
only  served  to  make  matters  worse.  He  rallied  the 
Tory  Cave  on  their  lack  of  patriotism  in  a  blundering 
sledge-hammer  sort  of  way,  which  made  them  all  the 
more  restive  and  provoked  several  stage-whispers 
about  the  patriotism  of  alien  adventurers.  He  attackep 
the  Labor  Party  for  the  ill-turn  they  were  doing  to 
labor  in  depriving  the  children  of  the  poor  of  their 
only  chance  of  obtaining  free  breakfasts ;  and  the 
Labor  Party  were  only  the  more  confirmed  in  their 
impatience  with  the  Government. 

He  sat  down  amid  derision,  which  was  followed  by 
a  painful  silence — a  silence  of  indecision  and  a 
silence  of  triumphant  expectation.  Some  one  called 
out  "  Cameron,"  as  a  drowning  man  might  call  for 
a  straw,  but  Lord  Rupert  only  gnawed  his  moustache 
as  if  to  say,  "  You  must  stew  in  your  own  juice. 
This  pie  is  none  of  my  making."  A  rumble  of 
"  Divide !  Divide !  "  swept  along  the  Opposition  benches, 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  355 

gathering1  volume  as  it  went.  Dr.  Bob  Quid  made  a 
diversion  by  calling  out  "  Order  there  among  the  rats  ! " 
because  a  Liberal  Unionist  member  had  sneezed.  It 
was  as  complete  a  collapse  as  ever  a  government  had 
known. 

The  Speaker  had  half  risen  to  put  the  question,  after 
a  last  lingering  look  around  the  crowded  House,  to  see 
if  any  other  honorable  member  wished  to  catch  his  eye ; 
the  attendant  inside  the  House,  with  a  brass  chain 
round  his  neck,  like  that  of  the  wine-waiter  at  a  res- 
taurant, had  already  poised  himself  to  start  and  bustle 
the  strangers  out  of  their  seats  under  the  gallery ;  and 
the  attendant  outside,  with  a  brass  chain  round  his 
neck,  like  that  of  a  city  alderman,  had  already  shaped 
his  throat  for  the  chaunt  of  "  Clear  the  lobby  !  " 

Suddenly  the  spell  was  broken.  A  young  man, 
whose  features  were  not  familiar  to  most  of  those 
present,  had  risen  from  the  third  bench  below  the 
Ministerial  gangway  and  was  beginning  to  speak,  as  if 
it  were  the  most  simple  and  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

It  was  a  difficult  moment  to  choose,  for  the  House 
was  in  an  excited,  electric  state,  tossed  about  between 
derision  and  despair.  Coryton,  however,  made  the 
utmost  of  his  advantages.  He  had  not  spoken  more 
than  two  or  three  times  in  the  House  since  his  sensa- 
tional election,  and  those  who  had  heard  him  had  been 
favorably  impressed  by  his  telling  way  of  saying  things 
and  the  opportuneness  of  their  delivery.  Moreover, 
those  who  had  not  heard  him  cherished  a  certain  curi- 
osity about  the  personality  of  the  young  man,  who  had 
relegated  Mr.  Loose-Fyshe  to  obscurity,  and  they  were 
disposed  to  accord  him  a  favorable  hearing.  His  heart 
was  beating  very  loud  on  what  he  felt  was  the  great 
chance  of  his  life,  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  must  lead 
on  to  fortune.  But  to  all  outward  appearance  he  was 
as  calm  and  self-possessed  as  the  oldest  of  old  parlia- 
mentary hands, — calm  and  self-possessed  and  yet  suf- 
ficiently modest  and  respectful  in  demeanor  not  to  hurt 
the  susceptibilities  of  the  most  jealous.  His  connec- 
tion with  Lord  Southwark  also  stood  him  in  good 
stead,  for  Lord  Southwark  was  considered  a  coming 
man  and  known  to  have  dabbled  in  labor  questions, 


356  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

and  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  existed  about  that  noble- 
man's view  of  the  Government  bill. 

As  Cory  ton  proceeded,  the  good-natured  interest, 
which  had  welcomed  him,  deepened  into  a  breathless 
attention,  such  as  is  very  rarely  accorded  by  the  House 
of  Commons  even  to  its  most  famous  orators.  Before 
he  had  finished,  it  seemed  likely  that  the  Government 
had  been  saved  and  it  was  certain  that  the  young  man's 
reputation  had  been  called  into  being.  He  had  begun 
by  addressing  himself  to  win  over  the  Independent 
Labor  Party.  At  the  West-Southwark  election,  he  in- 
formed them,  this  very  question  had  been  prominently 
raised,  and  he  had  been  able  to  satisfy  the  desires  of  a 
body  of  men,  who  went  even  further  in  this  question, 
than  the  honorable  member  for  Houndsditch  (Mr. 
Beer  Hardup).  lie  had  promised  them,  on  the  authority 
of  the  Prime  Minister,  a  bill  this  session,  which  would 
give  children  in  Board  Schools  not  only  free  educa- 
tion, not  only  free  breakfasts,  not  only  beer  and  buns 
at  eleven  o'clock  (Cheers  from  the  Independent  Labor 
Party),  but  also  free  dinners  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
(Renewed  cheering).  He  now  felt  it  his  duty,  in  view 
of  his  election  pledges  and  in  view  of  the  mandate 
of  his  constituents,  to  call  upon  the  Government  to 
redeem  the  Prime  Minister's  written  promise,  made 
to  him  last  June.  Let  the  portion  of  this  bill  dealing 
with  the  food  question  be  struck  out  (Cheers  from 
the  Tory  Cave)  and  another  bill  be  introduced  later 
on  to  confer  upon  the  poor  man's  children  the  free 
meals,  which  the  Prime  Minister  had  promised  them. 
(Cheers  from  the  Independent  Labor  Party).  After  a 
few  pointed  generalities  upon  both  the  food  and  the 
education  questions,  which  he  skilfully  introduced  in 
order  to  give  the  Tory  Cave  and  the  Labor  Party  time 
to  take  in  the  full  force  of  his  proposals,  he  wound  up 
with  a  brilliant  peroration  and  sat  down  amid  a  tem- 
pestuous ovation,  such  as  the  House  of  Commons  rarely 
accords. 

The  more  his  proposals  had  been  rubbed  in,  the  more 
they  were  liked  on  all  hands.  The  Independent  Labor 
Party  saw  a  great  triumph  for  itself  and  much  glorifi- 
cation before  its  constituents  and  pay-masters,  in  hav- 


THE  CROWN  OF  BAY  LEAVES.  357 

ing  extorted  from  the  Government  concessions  even 
greater  than  those  they  had  demanded.  The  Prime 
.Minister's  pledge  was  in  black  and  white.  It  was 
public,  formal  and,  as  far  as  they  saw,  could  not  now 
by  any  possible  means  be  shirked.  It  was  a  triumph 
for  their  policy,  and  it  had  the  advantage  of  keeping 
in  office  a  government  infinitely  more  squeezable  than 
the  Liberal  party  was  ever  likely  to  be.  The  Tory 
Cave  welcomed  the  emasculation  of  the  objectionable 
clauses  from  the  bill  and  felt  confident  it  could  procure 
the  rejection  of  such  a  bill  as  Coryton  had  fore- 
shadowed. The  official  Opposition  also  believed  in 
the  certainty  of  its  rejection  and,  jumping  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  fate  of  the  Government  would  be  bound 
up  in  it,  rejoiced  also.  The  Government  itself  was 
at  first  bewildered,  as  this  was  the  first  it  had  heard 
of  the  Prime  Minister's  pledge.  Then  gradually  the 
conviction  presented  itself  that  this  was  the  critical 
moment  in  their  career  and  that,  if  they  could  weather 
it,  their  future  was  probably  assured,  while,  if  the 
worst  came  to  the  worst,  delay  would  leave  them  to 
enjoy  the  sweets  of  office  a  little  longer.  Coryton 
had  cut  the  Gordian  knot  and  the  tangle  was  un- 
loosed. 

Lord  Rupert  Cameron  was  the  first  to  rise  after 
the  cheers  at  the  end  of  Coryton's  speech  had  at  length 
subsided.  He  was  always  the  quickest  to  take  in  a 
situation  and  seize  an  advantage.  He  began  by  com- 
plimenting Coryton  on  "  his  brilliant  diplomacy,  worthy 
of  a  Metternich  or  a  Beaconsfield,"  and  still  more  on 
the  masterly  way  in  which  he  had  expounded  it.  He 
dwelt  upon  the  boldness  of  Coryton's  action  and 
hinted  with  much  veiled  sarcasm  at  the  risks  he  had 
run  of  being  disowned  in  case  of  failure.  "  But  my 
honorable  friend  has  not  failed,"  he  added  amid  uni- 
versal applause,  "  and  therefore  he  will  not  be  dis- 
owned." He  advised  the  Government,  if  for  once  they 
would  take  his  advice,  to  adopt  the  course  which  his 
honorable  friend  had  suggested.  And  he  advised  the 
leaders  of  the  Independent  Labor  Party,  who  had  al- 
ways done  justice  to  his  (Lord  Rupert's)  sympathy 
with  Labor  Movement,  to  accept  the  Prime  Minister's 


358  THE  GREEN  BAY  THEE. 

pledge,  while  yet  it  was  on  offer,  and,  in  view  of  the 
generous  concessions  that  had  been  made,  to  set  up  no 
obstacle  to  the  separation  of  the  two  bills  in  the  method 
suggested. 

Mr.  Grit  followed,  saying  that  he  had  great  pleas- 
ure in  accepting,  both  for  himself  and  his  colleagues, 
the  terms  offered  by  the  Prime  Minister,  provided  they 
were  confirmed  by  the  Minister  in  charge  of  the  bill. 
This  the  Minister,  who  had  meanwhile  communicated 
with  his  chief,  had  no  difficulty  in  doing  and — despite 
a  protest  from  Mr.  Timothy  Mealy  that  there  was  no 
occasion  for  eliminating  the  food  clauses  from  the  bill 
because  the  Government  proposed  to  extend  them — 
the  motion  for  adjournment  was  carried  unanimously, 
and  next  week  the  Free  Education  bill,  lightened  of 
its  perplexing  food  clauses,  was  sent  up  to  the  House 
of  Lords. 

The  Government  was  saved,  and  from  that  day 
forward  its  stability  kept  on  increasing.  So  much 
so  that,  when  the  promised  Food  bill  saw  the  light 
and  was  defeated  on  second  reading  by  the  conniv- 
ance of  the  Government  whips,  the  acuteness  of  the 
questions  had  passed  away  and  the  House  only  smiled 
at  the  impotent  fury  with  which  the  Independent 
Labor  Party  proclaimed  itself  to  have  been  foiled. 

The  Government  was  saved  and  its  saviour  was  the 
hero  of  the  hour.  The  society  papers  were  soon  throw- 
ing out  mysterious  hints  about  the  offer  and  rejection 
of  an  under-secretaryship  and  even  about  the  prospects 
of  Cabinet  rank  being  immediately  conferred.  There 
was  no  truth  in  the  rumors,  of  course,  and  they  all 
might  have  been  traced  to  one  source,  but  they  served 
their  purpose  none  the  less  efficiently  for  that. 

As  good  luck  would  have  it,  society  was  then  on  the 
look-out  for  a  lion.  There  was  no  special  African 
traveller  in  London  with  new  yarns  about "  the  Anthro- 
pophagi and  men  whose  heads  do  grow  beneath  their 
shoulders ;  "  there  was  no  Yankee  circus-man  with  a 
picturesque  hat  and  a  certain  knack  of  shooting  straight 
at  glass  balls,  acquired  by  much  practice  at  the  heads 
of  San  Francisco  bar-loafers ;  nor  was  there  even  an 
Oriental  Monarch,  a  revolutionary  General,  or  a  slack- 


TSE  SORROWS  OF  SANCTITY.  359 

baked  poet,  with  whom  long,  curlless  hair  and  unclean 
habits  might  pass  for  genius  and  plagiarized  imper- 
tinences for  natural  wit. 

So  Walpole  Coryton  stepped  by  common  consent 
into  the  vacant  situation  and  seemed  to  bid  fair,  with 
his  irresistible  Vixie,  to  "  live  happily  ever  afterward." 
Everybody  delighted  to  do  them  honor,  from  the  Prime 
Minister,  who  had  said,  "  He  will  make  a  useful  under- 
secretary," down  to  Creeper-Crawley  andToadey-Snaile, 
who  abased  themselves  before  them.  All  the  saloons 
of  Society  vied  for  the  honor  of  entertaining  them,  and 
Majesty  herself,  deigning  to  share  the  public  interest, 
sent  a  "  command  "  to  dine  and  sleep  at  "V\7indsor  Castle. 
Everything  and  everybody  smiled  upon  the  happy  pair, 
and  no  one  assuredly  was  better  fitted  than  they  to 
derive  the  fullest  enjoyment  out  of  all  that  fortune  had 
to  offer. 

"  What  have  we  done,"  Violet  was  never  tired  of 
asking  herself  and  her  husband,  as  she  rejoiced  again 
and  again  over  the  exceeding  joy  of  living,  "  what  have 
we  done  to  deserve  all  this  happiness  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE    SORROWS    OF    SANCTITY. 

The  treasure  that  He  lent  us  in  life's  garden 
Falk,  we  shall  find  no  answer  then  but  this. 
Lord,  we  have  lost  it  on  our  road  to  death. 

IBSEN. 

WHAT  was  happening  to  Gwendolen  all  this  time? 
Had  she  found  the  upward  path  too  steep,  the  narrow 
way  too  rough  for  her  bleeding  feet  ?  Had  she,  like  so 
many  others  in  the  first  flush  of  enthusiasm,  essayed  a 
task  which  was  too  hard  for  her  ?  Had  she  fainted  or 
turned  aside  by  the  way  ? 

Not  so.  She  was  made  of  sterner  stuff  than  that. 
If  her  creed,  if  her  conception  of  duty,  was  a  narrow 


360  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

one,  she  had  with  it  all  the  thoroughness  born  of  that 
narrowness.  She  had  mapped  out  for  herself  what  she 
considered  to  be  the  right  course  and,  having  put  her 
hand  to  the  plough,  she  was  not  one  likely  to  turn 
back.  Her  aunt's  shrill  protests,  the  world's  wonder- 
ing sneers,  Lord  Baltinglass's  anger  (for  when  he  found 
that  she  refused  the  segis  of  his  protection  and  the 
solace  of  his  cheque-book,  his  wrath  knew  no  bounds) 
—Miss  Tyrconnel's  tearful  prayers — all  left  her  ab- 
solutely untouched,  nor  swerved  her  one  hair's-breadth 
from  her  purpose. 

The  only  thing  that  could  have  moved  her — a 
renewed  appeal  from  her  husband — remained  unut- 
tered.  If,  when  she  left  him,  he  had  followed  her, 
sought  her  out,  pleaded  again  for  her  pardon  and 
her  love,  she  might  have  forgiven  him,  might  have 
thrown  herself  upon  his  breast  and  sobbed  out 
all  her  sorrow  there.  The  aura  of  his  presence,  the 
glamour  of  his  love,  might  have  reasserted  itself  and 
conquered  her.  It  might  have  done  so — and  it  might 
not.  Such  possibilities  must  be  banished  to  the 
limbo  of  "  might-have-beens,"  for  she  was  never 
tested.  In  the  first  shock  of  her  flight,  Tyrconnel's 
wounded  pride  battled  with  his  wounded  love  and 
kept  him  silent  until  it  was  too  late.  He  was  ill 
at  first,  as  we  know;  then,  when  he  had  rallied 
enough  to  collect  his  scattered  thoughts,  when  he 
sat  down  and  poured  out  all  his  soul  to  her  in  a 
rush  of  penitence  and  weakness,  the  letter  never 
reached  her— she  had  left  Cambridge  for  good.  Her 
husband  did  not  write  again.  This  chilling  silence 
was  a  thousand  times  worse  than  the  most  passionate 
rebuff.  It  stung  his  pride  to  the  quick  and  made 
him  more  determined  than  ever  to  show  that  he 
could  live  without  her,  without  them  all,  and  that 
he  could  make  his  way  in  the  world  alone.  Had  he 
succeeded  he  would  have  written  to  her  again,  but  he 
failed.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  the  ground 
around  him  was  strewn  with  the  bones  of  those  who 
struggled  before  and  had  been  vanquished  in  the 
unequal  fight  ?  His  failure  drove  him  back  upon 
himself  and  made  him  think  more  hardly  of  his  wife. 


THE  SORBO  WS  OF  SANCTITY.  361 

He  knew  nothing  of  her  father's  sudden  death  nor 
of  his  ruin.  When  he  thought  of  her,  it  was  to 
picture  her  at  Cambridge,  the  centre  of  a  happy 
home — or  perhaps  with  his  father  at  Blarney,  petted, 
pitied,  caressed,  taking  a  side  against  him,  while  he 
was  struggling  outcast,  alone.  The  thought  made 
his  heart  hot  with  indignant  pain. 

In  the  mean  time  no  one  knew  whither  Gwendolen 
had  gone,  not  Lord  Baltinglass,  nor  Miss  Tyrconnel, 
nor  even  Mrs.  de  Courcy  Miles.  When  she  quitted 
the  home  of  her  childhood  one  bleak  February  day, 
the  home  which  was  already  under  the  auctioneer's 
hammer,  Gwendolen  resolutely  turned  her  back  on  all 
the  world.  Henceforth  she  would  be  dead  to  them, 
those  false  friends,  those  evils  counsellors,  who  were 
trying  to  turn  her  from  the  path  of  right!  A  great 
longing  came  over  her  to  be  away  from  them  all. 
After  this  turmoil  and  strife  she  wished  to  go  aside 
into  the  wilderness  and  rest  awhile.  She  chose  the 
greatest  wilderness  of  all — the  wilderness  of  London. 
Here  she  took  some  little  rooms  in  a  dingy  back 
street  somewhere  in  Westbourne  Grove,  a  street  which 
was  a  sort  of  bastard  offshoot  of  that  paradise  of 
suburban  shoppers,  Westbourne  Grove. 

Gwendolen  had  been  guided  thither  by  the  fact 
that  an  old  servant  of  her  mother's  had  married  and 
settled  years  ago  and  let  out  "apartments."  The 
woman  was  dead  now,  but  her  daughter  carried  on 
the  anything  but  flourishing  trade.  So  Gwendolen 
drifted  there,  but  despite  all  her  fortitude,  all  her 
stern  sense  of  right,  her  heart  sank  within  her  as 
the  cab  rattled  her  up  to  the  door  of  that  dingy  house 
in  that  dreary  little  street. 

It  was  the  first  step  on  her  pilgrimage  of  duty, — 
or  rather  her  sacrifice  to  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty, — 
the  first,  but  not  the  last  for  many  a  weary  day. 

In  the  long  months  which  followed  she  suffered — 
ah!  how  she  suffered! — as  only  these  silent,  still 
women  can  suffer  and  make  no  sign.  The  burden 
of  the  Great  City  loneliness  was  upon  her,  a  sense 
of  desolation  too  great  for  words  weighed  her  down. 
She  did  not  indeed  undergo  that  torture  of  vain 


362  TIIE  GREEN  3 AY  TREE. 

questioning  and  doubt  as  to  the  right  course,  which 
a  weaker  nature — one  less  heavenly  and  more  earthly 
— might  have  suffered,  but  ever  and  anon  her  heart 
would  go  out  in  spite  of  herself  to  her  husband,  and  an 
aching  yearning  would  come  over  her  to  see  him  again. 
But  she  stifled  it  down,  this  holy  yearning — treated  it 
as  men  and  women  of  her  type  are  wont  to  treat  the 
promptings  of  nature — repressed  it  and  thrust  it  aside 
as  if  the  very  thought  were  sin.  But  stifle  it  down  as 
she  would,  struggle  as  she  would,  the  still  small  voice 
within  her  would  make  itself  heard,  the  deep  whisper 
beating  ever  in  her  heart — "My  husband! — My  hus- 
band!— Wilfrid!—  Wilfrid!" 

She  little' knew  that  on  the  other  side  of  this  great 
Babylon,  the  one  her  soul  yearned  for  was  fighting 
against  all  the  hard  circumstances  of  his  life,  battling 
against  an  insidious  disease,  toiling,  struggling,  in  the 
vain  endeavor  to  do  something  which  should  win  back 
her  duty  and  her  love,  which  should  make  him  "more 
worthy"  of  her.  She  pictured  her  husband  as  still 
abroad,  at  Monte  Carlo  perhaps,  or  at  Baden-Baden, 
Paris,  Vienna  or  some  other  wicked  city.  He  loved 
such  places  better — far  better — she  tried  to  think,  than 
he  had  ever  loved  her. 

So  these  two  wrong-headed  young  people  went  on 
their  way  alone,  each  sacrificing  the  heaven  of  happi- 
ness which  lay  within  their  reach — she  to  her  mistaken 
sense  of  duty — he  to  his  wounded  pride. 

Meanwhile  Gwendolen  had  to  wonder  how  she  was 
to  live.  Her  father  had  died  a  ruined  man.  Every- 
thing he  possessed  had  been  seized  upon  by  his  cred- 
itors— and  even  those  few  things  to  which  she  might 
have  laid  a  personal  claim  she  did  not  demand.  Her 
stern  sense  of  conscientiousness  made  her  yield  up 
everything  until  the  last  debtor  was  satisfied.  But  she 
was  not  absolutely  destitute.  She  had  a  little  money 
in  hand,  very  little — but  then  a  woman  is  said  to  want 
so  little — and  a  few  trinkets,  which  could,  if  necessary, 
be  converted  into  cash  by  a  process  of  which  she  had 
hitherto  been  ignorant.  Still  the  fund  she  had  in 
hand,  though  it  would  last  for  a  time — for  her  wants 
were  few  and  she  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  denying 


THE  SORROWS  Off  SANCTITY.  363 

herself  everything  but  the  barest  necessaries, — would 
not  last  forever.  To  prevent  its  dwindling  too  rap- 
idly, she  must  work.  But  how  ?  She  had  thought  it 
so  easy  at  first.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  terrible  in- 
dustrial struggle  which  presses  even  more  heavily  on 
women- workers  than  on  men,  which  indeed  in  the  low- 
skilled  industries  thrives  on  the  very  weakness  of 
women.  She  had  not  recognized  the  fact  that  for 
women  there  is  practically  only  one  profession,  and 
that  an  overcrowded  one — to  wit,  matrimony.  She 
knew  nothing  of  these  things.  So  she  put  her  modest 
little  advertisement  in  the  Guardian  and  some  other 
papers,  to  say  that  a  lady  wished  to  give  lessons  in 
music  and  painting  and  other  arts.  And  then  she 
waited.  She  might  have  been  left  waiting,  for  no  an- 
swer came.  At  length  she  gave  up  advertising ;  it  did 
no  good  and  it  only  spent  her  money.  It  was  as  Mrs. 
de  Courcy  Miles  had  said,  people  didn't  want  gover- 
nesses, especially  governesses  they  knew  nothing  about, 
and  Gwendolen  was  determined  of  all  things  to  keep 
her  past  life  a  secret. 

So  she  essayed  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new  and  fell 
back  upon  her  needle.  She  was  clever  at  fancy-work  of 
all  kinds,  flower-painting  on  satin,  crewels,  church  em- 
broidery and  so  forth.  All  these  things  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  play  at  in  the  pretty-pretty  way,  which 
ladies  call  "  work."  She  took  some  specimens  of  her 
needlework  to  the  great  Emporium  hard  by,  and  en- 
deavored to  find  employment.  The  result  was  not  en- 
couraging. They  had  no  work  to  give,  but  the  Manager, 
a  kind-hearted  man,  touched  by  the  look  of  patient  sor- 
row on  the  girl's  sweet  face,  told  her  of  a  shop  in  Bond 
Street  which  dealt  largely  in  lamp-shades — marvels  of 
silk  and  lace — photograph-frames,  hand-screens,  and 
like  trifles.  Here  Gwendolen  was  more  successful. 
They  could  give  her  much  work  at  an  inverse  ratio  of 
pay.  But  it  was  work  she  could  do  at  home,  and,  small 
though  the  price  of  her  labor  was,  she  was  thankful  to 
get  it.  It  helped  to  eke  out  her  scanty  fund,  and  it 
gave  her  something  to  occupy  her  thoughts. 

She  needed  it.  She  worked  feverishly,  incessantly, 
trying  through  prayer  and  much  sewing  to  still  that 


£64  THE  GREEN  SAY  THEE. 

deep  whisper,  ever  beating  in  her  heart,  to  blot  out 
that  image,  which  strive  as  she  might  would  rise  un- 
bidden before  her  eyes.  By  day  she  was  fairly  success- 
ful, but  by  night — ah !  who  can  keep  guard  over  the 
truant  visions  of  the  night?  Sometimes  in  her  dreams 
her  love  would  live  once  more — her  husband  would 
come  to  her  again,  his  voice  whisper  in  her  ear,  his 
warm  kisses  press  themselves  upon  her  lips,  his  curly 
head  pillow  itself  upon  her  bosom— and  then  she  would 
wake  with  a  start  to  find  it  was  but  a  dream.  A  device 
of  the  Evil  One,  she  deemed  it,  instead  of  the  voice  of 
Nature  struggling  against  the  unnatural  restraints 
she  had  imposed,  and,  true  to  her  stern  creed,  she 
would  arise  and  kneel  down  shivering  in  the  cheerless 
room — praying  that  she  might  have  grace  to  fight 
against  temptation,  trying  to  comfort  herself  with  the 
promise  which  comforted  of  old  the  doubting  Peter  : 

'•'•Every  one  that  hath  forsaken  houses,  or  brethren,  or 
sisters,  or  father,  or  mother,  or  children,  or  lands,  for 
My  name's  sake  shall  receive  a  hundredfold,  and  shall 
inherit  everlasting  life.'1'' 

But  Gwendolen  was  not  Peter,  she  was  only  a  loving 
woman ;  and,  though  she  murmured  in  the  fervency 
of  her  prayer,  "  Thy  strength  shall  be  sufficient  for  me  " 
— yet  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  it  was  not  sufficient. 
How  could  it  be  ?  She  was  but  flesh  and  blood  after 
all.  She  yearned  after  the  visible  not  the  invisible, 
the  tangible  not  the  intangible,  the  real  not  the  unreal. 
Yet  still  she  would  kneel  there  fighting  with  herself, 
while  the  hours  wore  themselves  on  through  the  night, 
until  the  first  gray  gleam  of  dawn  lit  up  the  sordid 
room.  There  was  something  sublime  in  this  abandon- 
ment of  self.  It  was  the  same  spirit  which  animated 
the  Virgin  Martyrs  of  the  Early  Church  and  made 
them  yield  their  slender  bodies  to  the  rack  and  to  the 
flames. 

But  the  Virgin  Martyrs  probably  found  happiness 
— the  happiness  which  the  Moslem  feels  when  he 
rushes  to  meet  his  death  upon  the  bayonets  of  the 
infidel — and  Gwendolen  did  not.  It  is  all  very  well  to 
say  that  to  do  right  is  the  only  happiness.  Gwendolen 
was  doing  right,  or  what  she  firmly  believed  to  be 


THE  SORRO  WS  OF  SANCTITY.  365 

right,  which  is  the  same  thing,  since  right  is  a  relative 
term  all  the  world  over.  Yet  she  was  not  happy. 
The  awful  sense  of  loneliness  entered  like  iron  into  her 
soul. 

So  dragged  the  months  along.  March  passed  by, 
April  and  Easter  came.  The  trees  in  the  parks  put  on 
their  summer  vesture  of  green  and  the  butterflies  of 
fashion  came  out  with  the  sunshine.  The  Season 
waxed  and  waned.  In  July  Gwendolen  read  by  chance 
of  Coryton's  election  in  the  papers.  Do  what  she 
would,  she  could  not  altogether  keep  down  the  feeling 
of  bitterness  which  rose  in  her  breast  when  she  read  it. 
This  man — her  husband's  false  friend,  as  she  now 
knew  him  to  be,  the  man  who  had  ruined  her  father 
and  brought  her  to  the  verge  of  penury, — was  flourish- 
ing like  the  Green  Bay  Tree.  Like  the  Psalmist  of 
old,  she  found  this  thing  too  hard  for  her  until  she 
went  into  the  Sanctuary  of  her  faith.  That  brought 
peace  and  refreshment  into  her  soul  for  a  time,  but 
only  for  a  time. 

About  this  time  Gwendolen  became  very  ill.  The 
mental  worry,  the  inferior  food,  the  close  air,  all 
told  upon  her  health.  For  a  time  she  gave  way 
utterly,  broken  down  both  in  body  and  mind.  All 
through  the  days  which  followed,  scorching  August 
days  when  the  Park  was  a  desert  and  the  streets  dusty 
and  glaring,  she  lay  in  her  room  listless,  dispirited, 
drooping  like  a  faded  flower,  praying  for  death.  So 
she  remained  all  through  the  autumn  which  followed, 
until  the  November  fogs  came  and  stern  necessity 
made  her  arise  from  her  couch  and  take  up  her  work 
again.  Poverty  is  a  hard  task-master,  it  takes  no 
account  of  wrecked  lives  nor  broken  hearts ;  and  so 
Gwendolen  found  it.  Christmas  passed,  the  New 
Year  dawned,  but  it  brought  no  promise  of  joy  or  hope 
to  Gwendolen  Tyrconnel.  The  anniversary  of  her 
wedding-day  came  and  went.  She  spent  it  with  prayer 
and  bitter  tears. 

One  evening  in  late  February  she  started  forth  to 
take  her  work  back  to  the  shop  from  which  she  was 
employed.  It  was  the  very  evening — so  mysterious 
lire  the  workings  of  destiny,  or  so  odd  are  the 


366  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

freaks  of  chance — the  very  evening  that  Coryton  was 
making  his  brilliant  hit  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Gwendolen  had  been  -working  incessantly  all  day  to 
get  her  task  finished  in  time.  Her  limbs  felt  stiff 
and  cramped,  her  head  ached,  her  eyes  were  dizzy, 
she  had  not  given  herself  time  for  food — but  she  had 
done  her  work,  and  now  she  must  take  it  back.  It  was 
not  often  she  went  out  after  dusk,  but  she  had  no  one 
to  send,  and  the  Bond  Street  establishment  closed  at 
seven  o'clock.  She  must  get  it  there  before  closing 
time  at  all  hazards. 

The  darkness  of  the  cold  damp  day  had  closed  in. 
The  lamps  were  looming  large  through  the  gloom 
as  Gwendolen  walked  along  the  muddy  pavements, 
drawing  her  waterproof  more  tightly  around  her  as 
she  went.  She  felt  weak  and  tired  ;  she  had  not 
gone  far  before  she  felt  she  could  walk  no  longer, 
so  in  the  Bayswater  Road  she  hailed  a  passing  'bus. 
It  was  an  extravagance  (every  penny  spent  was  an 
extravagance  to  Gwendolen  now),  but  it  was  one  she 
could  not  help.  At  the  top  of  Bond  Street  she  alighted 
and  the  'bus  went  on  its  way  down  Oxford  Street  and 
Holborn. 

The  shop  for  which  she  was  bound  was  situated 
in  Old  Bond  Street,  hard  by  the  Burlington  Arcade. 
There  is  not  in  all  London  a  prettier  sight  than  Bond 
Street  just  the  hour  after  dusk,  when  the  shops 
are  lighted  before  closing  for  the  day.  The  Art 
Galleries,  the  jewellers,  the  modistes,  the  flower  shops, 
all  reveal  their  treasures  in  the  glow  of  the  lamp-light, 
and  the  narrow  thoroughfare  brings  either  side  well 
within  the  range  of  vision.  But  Gwendolen  hurried 
along,  her  thick  veil  down,  her  parcel  under  her  arm, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  She  never 
came  to  this  neighborhood  without  a  sense  of  fear 
lest  some  chance  meeting  might  reveal  her  to  those 
whom  she  of  all  things  wished  to  avoid,  and  when 
possible  she  sent  a  messenger.  But  to-night  it  had  not 
been  possible. 

About  half-way  down  the  street  a  man  lounged 
out  of  a  cigar  shop.  A  stout  man  with  big  fishy 
eyes  and  a  Jewish  cast  of  countenance,  over-dressed 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SANCTITY.  367 

after  the  mariner  of  his  type,  with  a  loud  necktie, 
louder  gloves,  a  blue  overcoat,  and  a  buttonhole  of 
blue  carnations — evidently  one  of  those  low  brutes 
who  prowl  around,  seeking  whom  they  may  devour. 
As  Gwendolen  passed  he  accosted  her.  A  woman, 
alone,  and  unprotected,  was  fine  game  to  him.  A 
cold  terror  struck  her  heart.  All  the  months  she  had 
been  in  London  this  was  the  first  time  that  any  one  had 
dared  to  molest  her  thus ;  she  gave  him  a  withering 
glance  and  hurried  on.  Nothing  daunted,  he  stalked 
after  his  prey,  following  her,  quickening  his  pace  to 
accord  with  hers,  every  now  and  then  making  some 
remark  whose  inanity  scarcely  veiled  the  covert 
insult.  How  dared  he? — How  dared  he?  The  sense 
of  her  unprotected  condition  had  never  been  brought 
home  so  vividly  to  Gwendolen  before.  Oh!  if  her 
husband  were  only  here.  She  hailed  the  shop  for 
which  she  was  bound  as  a  haven  of  refuge. 

She  was  kept  there  waiting  some  time,  for  those  who 
come  to  sell  are  treated  very  differently  to  those  who 
come  to  buy, — but  at  last  she  disposed  of  her  parcel 
and  received  the  reward  of  her  labor, — a  few  shil- 
lings. 

When  she  came  out,  to  her  dismay  she  found  her 
persecutor  still  waiting.  In  her  anxiety  to  avoid  him 
she  turned  into  the  Burlington  Arcade.  In  her  in- 
nocence she  did  not  know — how  was  she  to  know  ? — 
the  reputation  this  region  has  won  for  itself  when  the 
lamps  are  lit — or  that  the  smartly-dressed  fair  who 
flaunt  up  and  down  beneath  the  covered  dome  can 
hardly  be  said,  like  Caesar's  wife,  to  be  above  suspicion. 
The  man  evidently  took  the  bend  her  steps  had  turned 
as  a  tacit  encouragement,  for  he  followed  her  and 
accosted  her  again,  this  time  in  unmistakable  terms. 
She  gave  him  one  look  of  horror  and  indignation,  and 
then  sped  as  fast  as  her  feet  would  take  her  out  of  the 
Arcade.  As  she  was  rushing  across  Burlington  Gar- 
dens (just  where  the  road  turns  into  Bond  Street)  a 
smart  little  brougham  dashed  along  at  full  speed.  In 
her  blind  terror  Gwendolen  ran  right  under  the  horse's 
nose.  There  was  a  warning  shout  from  a  policeman, 
and  a  scream  from  some  woman  standing  by;  the 


368  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

coachman  tried  to  pull  up,  but  it  was  too  late.  Before 
he  could  do  so  or  Gwendolen  could  swerve  aside,  the 
shaft  had  struck  her  on  the  shoulder  and  she  fell  sense- 
less to  the  ground. 

In  a  moment  confusion  reigned  supreme,  the  crowd 
closed  around  and  the  carriage  came  to  a  standstill. 
The  brougham  window  was  let  down  with  a  rush,  and 
a  little  figure  with  golden  hair, — a  vision  of  satin  and 
sables, — sprang  out  and  elbowed  her  way  through  the 
crowd  to  where  the  senseless  woman  lay.  A  police- 
man was  before  her  and  lifted  the  drooping  head,  wav- 
ing back  those  who  huddled  around.  The  lady  of  the 
sables  and  the  satin  gave  one  glance  towards  the  sense- 
less form,  the  white  beautiful  face,  the  shabby  black 
dress.  Then  she  shrieked  in  shrill  amazement, 

"  Goodness  gracious !    If  it  isn't  Mrs.  Tyrconnel ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE     WOOD      OF     ST.     JOHN. 

Extremes  in  everything  is  a  characteristic  of  woman. — DE 
GONCOUKT. 

WHEN  Gwendolen  recovered  consciousness,  it  was  to 
find  herself  lying  on  a  downy  bed,  lapped  in  an  all- 
pervading  sense  of  warmth  and  drowsiness.  She 
looked  about  her  in  a  semi-bewildered  way.  It  was  a 
pretty  room,  prettily  furnished.  The  bed  hangings 
were  of  rose  pink,  edged  with  lace ;  the  toilet- ware 
and  window  curtains  were  of  the  same  delicate  hue, 
which  tinted  also  the  woodwork  of  the  furniture.  A 
night-light  was  dimly  burning,  and  a  fire  of  red  coals 
glowed  in  the  grate.  It  was  a  picture  of  warmth  and 
comfort.  By  the  side  of  the  fire  was  drawn  up  a  large 
arm-chair  and  a  table  with  a  medicine  bottle  and 
glass  upon  it,  also  a  servant's  cap.  But  whoever  had 
occupied  the  chair,  it  was  tenantless  for  the  nonce,  and 
Gwendolen  was  alone. 


THE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  369 

At  first  she  thought  she  must  be  dreaming.  How 
came  she  here  in  this  luxurious  nest,  so  different 
from  her  sordid  little  room  in  Bayswater?  Where 
was  she?  What  did  it  all  mean?  She  raised  herself 
on  one  elbow,  and  again  her  eyes  wandered  round 
the  room,  taking  in  each  item  in  mute  amaze. 
Suddenly  they  lighted  on  her  mud-stained  waterproof, 

which  was  thrown  carelessly  across  a  chair 

Ah !  she  remembered that  dreadful  man  .  .  . 

.  .  the  rush  across  the  street the  blow  on  her 

shoulder.  It  still  ached  with  pain the  fall. 

But  how  came  she  here  ? 

A  sudden  terror  struck  her,  banishing  all  her  drow- 
siness in  an  instant.  She  remembered  the  evil  look 
in  the  man's  eyes.  Had  she  been  seized,  kidnapped, 
carried  off,  while  still  unconscious,  to  some  den  of  vice. 
Innocent,  guileless  though  she  was,  Gwendolen  had 
vague  ideas  about  vice, — indefinite  notions  gleaned 
from  chance  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers — veiled 
hints  of  wickedness  too  great  for  words. 

Fearfully  she  gazed  around  in  the  flickering  light, 
her  heart  seemed  almost  to  stop  its  beating.  What 
she  expected  to  see,  she  knew  not,  nor  did  she  know 
that  those  who  are  most  vicious  make  the  least  parade 
of  their  vice.  Anyway,  her  scrutiny  was  reassuring 
to  her ;  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  evil  here.  A  few 
chaste  water-colors  in  Oxford  frames  adorned  the 
walls,  over  the  fireplace  there  was  a  picture  of  a  dis- 
tinctly religious  type ;  the  chintz-covered  furniture 
looked  innocent  enough  to  have  graced  the  "  spare  bed- 
room "  of  a  respectable  family. 

Still  the  terror  was  upon  her.  She  got  up  and  began 
hurriedly  to  huddle  on  her  dress.  Her  head  was 
dizzy,  her  knees  so  weak  that  she  could  scarcely  stand, 
the  pain  in  her  shoulder  made  her  slow  of  movement. 
But  she  managed  to  dress  somehow,  fear  lent  her 
strength. 

With  uncertain,  feeble  steps,  guiding  herself  by  the 
furniture,  as  invalids  are  wont  to  do,  she  tottered  to 
the  door,  and  opening  it  noiselessly,  peered  out. 

Gaslights  were  flaring  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  nar- 
row hall  beneath.  The  clock  on  the  landing  pointed 
24 


370  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

to  half-past  one.  Gwendolen  gasped.  She  must  have 
been  here  nearly  seven  hours.  She  crept  cautiously 
down  the  stairs.  As  she  did  so,  the  sound  of  boister- 
ous merriment  burst  upon  her  ears.  It  issued  from 
the  half-open  door  of  a  room  on  the  ground  floor. 
Gwendolen  shuddered  and  drew  back.  To  her  dis- 
torted sense,  it  sounded  like  the  unholy  mirth  of  a 
Pandemonium.  Oh !  to  what  terrible  place  had  she 
come  ?  How  should  she  escape  from  it  ?  Beyond  that 
room  lay  the  hall-door,  and  the  safety  of  the  outer  air. 
She  must  reach  it  at  all  hazards.  She  had  gathered 
up  her  strength  for  a  sudden  rush,  when  upon  her 
ears  there  fell  the  sound  of  her  own  name. 

"I'd  just  been  round  to  Schwabe's  to  try  on  a 

frock You  might  have  knocked  me  down 

with  a  feather,"  cried  a  high-pitched,  staccato  voice, 

'I  never  was  so  taken  aback  in  all  my  life 

When  I  caught  sight  of  her  face,  I'm  blessed  if  't  wasn't 
Mrs.  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel." 

Gwendolen  paused  in  amazement.  Where  had  she 
heard  that  voice  before  ? — Ah !  she  remembered,  she 
was  not  likely  to  forget,  for  with  it  was  associated  the 
bitterest  hour  of  her  life.  And  yet — Could  it  be  ? 

Urged  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  she  moved  towards 
the  half-opened  door.  At  first,  she  could  see  noth- 
ing. It  was  a  long  double  room,  with  heavy  curtains 
of  blue  plush  dividing  it  midway.  These  curtains 
were  drawn  now  and  the  back  part  of  the  room, 
which  Gwendolen  entered  with  noiseless  step,  lay  in 
darkness,  save  that  a  glimmer  of  light  made  its  way 
through  where  the  curtains  met.  It  was  the  smallest 
opening,  but  through  it  Gwendolen  was  able  to  see 
without  being  seen. 

A  sight  met  her  eyes  which  was  new  to  her,  but 
which  crystallized  at  once  all  her  vague  notions  of 
an  evil  life.  And  yet  on  the  surface  there  was  noth- 
ing so  very  evil  about  this  particular  gathering  It 
was  only  the  burlesque  actress,  Miss  de  Vere,  nee 
Popkins,  entertaining  Miss  Gussie  Gutter  of  music- 
hall  fame,  Miss  Pussie  Prancewell,  and  a  few  friends  of 
the  other  sex  to  supper  after  the  play.  True,  the 
guests  were  expressing  themselves  in  that  free-and- 


THE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  371 

easy  fashion  current  in  Bohemia  ;  and,  if  noise  were  a 
criterion,  they  seemed  to  be  enjoying  themselves, 
though  very  likely  they  were  not,  for  Bohemia  is  often 
at  the  bottom  as  dull  and  flat  as  average  Exeter  Hall 
respectability.  But  Gwendolen  judged  from  appear- 
ances. 

It  was  a  little,  gaudily-furnished  room,  crammed 
with  furniture,  poufs,  cushions  and  photographs,  a 
room  full  of  discords  of  color  and  glare  of  gilding. 
The  air  WHS  thick  with  tobacco  smoke  and  heavy  with 
scent.  On  a  round  table  pushed  away  now  against  the 
wall,  were  the  remains  of  a  substantial  supper — oysters 
and  chablis,  lobsters  and  champagne,  devilled  bones 
and  brandies  and  sodas, — plenty  of  variety  and  plenty 
of  everything.  The  light  from  the  red  lamp-shades 
threw  a  meretricious  glow  over  the  group  gathered 
around  the  fire.  Sally  was  there,  the  centre  of  the 
group,  lying  back  in  a  low  chair  heaped  around  with 
downy  cushions — but  not  Sally  as  Gwendolen  had  seen 
her  last — as  she  had  pictured  her  ever  since,  a  poor 
little  Marguerite  in  a  shabby  black  frock, — but  Sally 
radiant  with  rouge  and  pearl  powder,  with  diamonds 
— real  or  sham — gleaming  on  her  white  bosom  and  in 
the  golden  mist  of  her  fluffy  hair, — Sally  in  shimmer  of 
satin  and  lace — Sally  a  very  Circe  incarnate,  with  a 
cigarette  stuck  between  her  lips  and  a  big  tumbler  of 
something  by  her  side,  her  roguish  little  face  lit  up  as 
she  held  forth  for  the  benefit  of  the  others  around  her. 
And  those  others  !  Miss  Gussie  Gutter  in  a  flaunting 
garb  of  red  and  yellow,  with  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  and  that  hered- 
itary legislator,  Lord  Welcher,  reclining  on  the  bear- 
skin rug  at  her  feet, — Miss  Prancewell  also  en  grartde 
tenue  on  a  sofa,  and  by  her  side — what  did  he  here? — 
that  eminent  legislator  and  Exeter  Hall  luminary,  Mr. 
Toadey-Snaile,  M.  P.  There  was  yet  one  more — his 
back  was  towards  her,  but  Gwendolen  had  no  difficulty 
in  recognizing  the  thick-set  bull  neck  and  stubbly  black 
hair  of  Lord  Pirnlico.  With  difficulty  she  suppressed 
a  scream.  To  what  terrible  place  had  she  been 
brought  ?  The  trail  of  the  serpent  seemed  over  all ; 
yet  she  could  not  fly ;  terror  and  amazement  kept  her 


372  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

rooted  to  the  spot.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  heart, 
and  gasped  for  breath.  Meanwhile  the  high-pitched 
voice  went  on : 

"  So  I  told  the  bobby  that  she  was  a  friend  of  mine. 
What  are  you  grinning  at  Pirn  ?  What  else  could  I 
say  ?  And  he  lifted  her  into  the  brougham  and  off  we 
were  like  a  shot  out  of  that  horrid  crowd  which  was 
enough  to  suffocate  anybody.  The  doctor  says  the 
fall's  nothing.  She  fainted  more  from  fright  than 
anything  else,  and  when  she  showed  signs  of  coming 
to  and  was  light-headed,  he  gave  her  something  to 
make  her  doze  off  again.  She'll  be  as  right  as  a  trivet 
in  the  morning." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  she's  here  now,"  cried  Mr. 
Toadey-Snaile  in  astonishment  and  alarm. 

"You  don't  think  I  should  turn  her  out  in  the 
streets,  do  you  ?  "  retorted  Sally  indignantly.  "  I  am 
not  quite  such  a  brute  as  that  and  she  was  good  to  me 

once  on  a  time Yes,  she's  upstairs  in  bed, — at 

least  I  s'pose  so ;  I  haven't  seen  her  since  I  came  back, 
but  Jane's  looking  after  her — if  the  lazy  hussy  hasn't 
gone  to  sleep,  that  is." 

"  Miss  de  Vere  turned  good  Samaritan !  "  sniggered 
Toadey-Snaile.  "  How  touching !  " 

"  Better  than  a  Pharisee,  any  day,"  rejoined  Sally 
tartly.  Her  sentiment  evoked  a  sturdy  "  hear,  hear !  " 
from  the  fair  Gussie. 

Lord  Welcher  gave  a  tipsy  snort.  He  had  been  half 
asleep  during  this  colloquy. 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  be  toddlin',  Gussie  ?  " 
he  queried  drowsily. 

"  Dry  up,"  retorted  that  damsel,  giving  him  a  tap  on 
the  head  with  her  satin  slipper.  "  Go  on,  Sally,  don't 
take  any  notice  of  him.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  her,  when  she  comes  to  ?  " 

"  I'm  blessed  if  I  know !  "  said  Sally,  with  a  puzzled 
air.  "  It's  a  rum  go  altogether.  Whatever  could  make 
the  likes  of  her  be  running  about  the  Burlington  at 
that  time  of  night,  and  all  alone,  too  ?  And  the  doctor 
says  he  doesn't  think  she  has  had  half  enough  to  eat 
— and  she'd  got  a  pair  of  boots  on  that  I  wouldn't 
touch  with  the  tongs, — all  down  at  heel,  and  an  old 


WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  373 

frock — well  it's  almost  as  bad  as  what  I  used  to  wear 
when  1  was  in  a  garret,  starving  on  a  bloater  and  four 
and  sixpence  a  week,  before — " 

"  You  knew  me,"  interrupted  Pimlico.  He  was  al- 
ways inclined  to  be  spiteful  in  his  cups. 

"  Oh,  long  before  that,"  rejoined  Miss  Popkins  coolly, 
"  though  you  don't  part  with  any  more  than  you  can 
help — I  know  that." 

Whereat  there  was  a  general  laugh.  Even  Lord 
Welcher  joined  in  under  his  bibulous  breath. 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  make  it  out,"  resumed  Sally  reflec- 
tively— "  pass  the  cigarettes  will  you,  Toadey,  if  you 
don't  mean  to  keep  them  all  to  yourself.  What  beats 
me  is  how  she  got  like  this — a  real  swell,  too !  What 
can  her  husband  be  thinking  about?  But  there,  I 
always  said  he  wasn't  fit  to  black  her  boots." 

"  Her  husband ! "  echoed  Pimlico.  "  He's  on  his 
last  legs  too,  I  hear.  Poor  Pigeon !  Don't  you  know 
they  had  an  awful  row  at  Cannes  about  something  or 
other,  and  she  went  off  and  left  him  then  and  there. 
You  ought  to  know  all  about  it,  Sally — " 

Sally  winced,  and  turned  almost  pale  beneath  her 
rouge. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  she  exclaimed  in  unfeigned 
astonishment,  "  that  she  ran  away  from  him  because  of 
that ! " 

"  I  do  mean  to  say  it,"  repeated  Pimlico  doggedly, 
"  and  what's  more,  when  he  got  back  to  England,  old 
Baltinglass  turned  him  out  of  doors  without  a  sou  in 
his  pocket.  I  believe  he  took  to  quill-drivin'  or 
somethin',  but  somebody  told  me  the  other  day  he  was 
dead." 

He  took  another  swig  at  his  whiskey  and  soda. 

"  No,  he  isn't,"  chimed  in  Pussie  Prancewell,  speak- 
ing now  for  the  first  time,  "  but  he's  precious  near  it,  I 
can  tell  you.  You  remember  Olive  Jennings  of  the 
Gaiety  chorus,  don't  you,  Sally  ?  She  has  been  terribly 
down  on  Her  luck  lately.  I  went  to  see  her  the  other 
day,  in  Duchess  Street,  Soho.  That  is  where  she  is 
living  now,  and  bless  me,  who  should  have  a  room  of 
the  top  floor  but  Tyrconnel  ?  I  met  him  accidentally  on 
the  stairs,  as  I  was  going  up  one  day.  I  should  never 


S74  THE  GREEN  SAT  TREE. 

have  known  him,  he  looked  out  at  elbows,  half  starved, 
and  scarcely  able  to  drag  himself  along,  but  something 
in  his  face  struck  me,  and  I  asked  Olive  who  it  was. 
She  said  she  believed  his  name  was  Tyrconnel,  and  he 
was  dying  of  gallopin'  consumption — Gracious  Good- 
ness !— What  ever* s  that! !  " 

There  was  a  low  moan — a  sudden  cry — the  next  mo- 
ment the  blue  velvet  curtains  were  rent  asunder,  and 
a  pale,  agonized  woman  tottered  forward,  and  almost 
fell  at  the  speaker's  feet. 

"Dying — you  say — dying?  Wilfrid — my  husband, 
dying, — and  I  never  knew  it.  Oh !  where  is  he  ? — 
where  is  he  ? — take  me  to  him — 

Banquo's  ghost  at  the  banquet — the  writing  on  the 
wall  at  Belshazzar's  feast  could  not  have  brought 
greater  confusion  than  this  sudden  apparition — sud- 
den as  it  was  unexpected — wrought  on  this  select 
assembly.  The  men  sprang  to  their  feet — all  except 
Lord  Welcher,  who  still  sat  on  the  hearthrug  blink- 
ing his  little  red  eyes  in  tipsy  wonder.  Sally  gave  a 
screech,  Gussie  Gutter,  as  she  afterwards  phrased  it, 
felt  "  all  of  the  creeps  " — Miss  Prancewell,  to  whom 
this  appeal  was  addressed,  stared  as  though  she  were 
confronted  with  a  spectre. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Oh,  take  me  to  him,"  wailed  Gwen- 
dolen again,  wringing  her  hands — oblivious  of  every- 
thing save  her  husband's  dire  need.  The  wifely  instinct 
was  aroused  in  her  at  last.  She  pictured  him  starv- 
ing, dying,  helpless,  deserted.  A  great  .rush  of  pity 
and  love  swept  over  her,  breaking  all  barriers  down. 

"  Sixty-four  Duchess  Street,  Soho,"  gasped  out  Miss 
Prancewell,  too  astonished  to  equivocate.  "  There, 
don't  take  on  so — don't,"  she  added,  touched  in  spite 
of  herself  at  the  look  of  unspeakable  sorrow  on  the  pale 
face. 

But  her  words  fell  on  deaf  ears.  Worn-out  by  con- 
flicting emotions,  weak  from  long  fasting  and  over- 
work, exhausted  by  all  she  had  gone  through  ;  even  as 
she  spoke  Gwendolen  reeled  and  fell.  For  the  second 
time,  she  fainted 

"  I  think  we'd  better  be  toddlin',  Gussie,"  the  noble 
peer  said  again  when  the  confusion  had  somewhat  sub- 


THE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  375 

sided.  He  had  remained  in  a  semi-torpid  condition 
throughout. 

Miss  Gutter  promptly  took  the  hint,  and,  tucking  his 
arm  througli  her  own,  marched  his  uncertain  steps  to 
the  door.  Pussie  Prance  well  followed  suit.  Toadey- 
Snaile  had  long  since  disappeared,  skulking  off  at  the 
first  alarm.  A  wholesome  dread  of  the  wife  of  his 
bosom  and  a  terror  of  being  arraigned  before  his  con- 
stituents by  a  reptile  press,  if  this  escapade  should 
leak  out,  lent  wings  to  his  flight.  Sally  was  kneeling 
by  the  side  of  the  insensible  girl,  chafing  the  cold 
hands.  Pimlico  hovered  around,  uncertain  whether  to 
go  or  to  stay. 

"  Here's  a  silly  go,"  he  exclaimed  presently,  address- 
ing Sally's  back.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
her,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  You'd  better  let  her  people  know,"  said  Sally 
without  looking  up.  "  Lord  Baltinglass  ought  to  be 
told  where  she  is — and  then  he  can  come  and  fetch  her 
away." 

"  Oh,  that  be  hanged,"  cried  Pimlico.  He  was  in  a 
very  bad  temper  at  this  premature  breaking  up  of  the 
party,  just  when  he  had  settled  down  to  make  a  night 
of  it,  too.  "  You  don't  catch  me  mixing  myself  up 
with  it.  "Why,  he  or  the  Guv'nor  'd  be  wanting  to 
know  how  I  came  here,  and  then  what  should  I  say  ?  " 

Sally  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently. 

"  Tell  a  lie,"  she  said.  "  'T  wouldn't  be  the  first  you 
have  told  by  a  good  many." 

Pimlico  glowered,  but  did  not  venture  the  retort 
which  rose  to  his  lips.  Sally  in  her  "  tantrums  "  was 
a  difficult  person  to  deal  with. 

"  Better  have  her  put  to  bed,  and  we'll  talk  it  over," 
he  hazarded  presently. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  her  any  more  to-night," 
said  Sally.  And  she  meant  it. 

"  Well,  in  that  case,"  he  said  sulkily,  "  I'd  better 
make  tracks,  I  suppose." 

To  this  Sally  deigned  no  response.  But  when  he  had 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  came  to  claim  a  caress,  she 
pushed  him  roughly  from  her  with  a  sudden  spasm  of 
shame. 


376  THE  GREEN  BAT  TREE. 

"  Oh,  go  away,  do,"  she  cried.  "  Can't  you  see  how 
I  feel  just  now  ?  I  might  have  been  almost  a  good 
woman,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

Pimlico  made  no  further  remonstrance.  He  was  too 
much  astonished  at  this  new  phase  of  feeling.  He 
banged  out  of  the  door  in  a  huff,  and,  hailing  a  han- 
som— there  were  always  hansoms  hanging  round  Alpha 
Cottage  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning — jumped  in, 
and  drove  off  westward. 


"  God  may  forgive  you,  I  never  can." 

The  words  sounded  stern  and  hard,  but  they  were 
not  sterner  nor  harder  than  Gwendolen's  heart.  She 
stood  there  in  the  cold,  gray  light  of  the  early  morn- 
ing, buttoning  her  cloak  with  trembling  hands.  *^very 
nerve  quivered  with  repulsion  as  she  looked  at  the 
woman  before  her.  For  Sally,  moved  by  a  strange, 
unaccountable  impulse  peculiar  to  excitable  souls, 
smitten  by  compunction  at  the  sight  of  the  anguish 
which  she  had  wrought,  maudlin  too,  perchance,  from 
the  frequent  nips  of  Cognac  which  she  had  taken  to 
sustain  her  through  the  trying  night,  had  told  her  all. 
All  the  story  of  that  plot  at  Cottenham,  of  the  net 
spread  before  the  bird,  of  the  one  fall  and  subse- 
quent recoil,  of  Coryton's  suggestions  at  Les  Douleurs 
and  Monte  Carlo  ; — of  everything  in  fact,  exonerating 
Tyrconnel  and  shelving  all  the  blame,  or  as  much  of  it 
as  she  could,  upon  Coryton's  shoulders.  Still,  palliate 
it  as  she  would,  she  was  a  consenting  party,  privy  to 
the  plot,  the  willing  tool  whereby  it  was  carried  out. 
The  damning  fact  remained. 

"  I'm  sure  I  never  thought  you'd  take  it  like  you  did," 
snivelled  Sally,  moved  to  tears  at  this  stern  rejection 
of  her  prayer  for  pardon,  "  I  thought  you'd  give  him  a 
wiggin'  of  course,  and  then  kiss  and  make  friends  again, 
—like — like  anybody  else.  Why  even  if  all  I  had  told 
you  was  true — and  it  wasn't — it  was  no  more  than 
plenty  of  other  men  have  done — and  are  doing  every 
day.  Oh !  I  could  tell  you  some  pretty  tales  about 
people  you  little  think  it  of — and  of  old  men  too. 


TSE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  377 

Old  men,"  she  wound  up  viciously,  "  are  the  worst  of 
the  lot." 

Gwendolen  put  up  her  hand  with  a  stern  gesture  of 
silence.  But  the  torrent  of  Sally's  exculpatory  drivel 
was  not  to  be  stemmed  thus ;  it  simply  swerved  in 
other  directions. 

"And  I  was  hard  up  too,"  she  continued, — "very 
hard  up,  I  was.  I  didn't  know  where  to  turn  for  a 
penny  or  I  never  should  have  done  it — never.  I 
lost  everything  on  the  tables,  and  he  only  gave  me  a 
tenner — at  least  that  was  all  that  thief  of  a  Coryton 
gave  me  from  him,  though  I'm  quite  sure  now  that  he 
bagged  the  rest  himself.  Oh,  it's  bad  to  be  poor, — that 
it  is." 

She  began  to  whimper  again  like  a  beaten  puppy. 

Gwendolen's  eyes  travelled  slowly  round  the  room — 
the  rose-hued  hangings,  the  lace-fringed  curtains,  the 
pretty  furniture — all  seemed  to  her  part  of  the  price 
of  sin.  Lastly  her  eyes  came  back  to  Sally  herself — a 
poor  dishevelled  Sally  in  this  morning  light.  Her 
eyes  were  red  as  a  ferret's, — tears  had  mingled  with  the 
rouge  and  powder  on  her  face,  producing  an  effect  akin 
to  that  of  a  washed-out  doll.  Last  evening's  dissipa- 
tion followed  by  a  sleepless  night  had  told  on  her. 
She  looked  the  wreck  of  her  painted  beauty.  And  yet 
— Gwendolen  felt  no  pity.  She  had  been  fooled, 
tricked,  lied  to,  she  had  been  betrayed,  she  had  blighted 
two  lives,  by  her  incapacity  to  take  a  wide  view  of  life. 
And  this  woman,  who  had  lured  her  husband  into  sin 
and  who  had  lied  to  her,  was  now  suing  her  pardon. 
Faugh!  It  was  only  one  more  piece  of  dissimulation. 
Just  now  she  was  a  poor  bedraggled  Magdalen,  indeed. 
By  and  by  she  would  be  smiling  again,  in  silks  and 
velvets  and  diamonds.  A  wave  of  repulsion  swept 
over  her ! 

"  This  is  not  poverty,"  she  said,  sweeping  her  hand 
around.  "  Shame  on  you — shame  !  " 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  Sally,  becoming  in  a  moment  less 
lachrymose  and  more  defiant.  The  utter  scorn  of  Gwen- 
dolen's words  penetrated  even  her  thick  skin.  A 
worm  will  turn  at  last.  "  This  is  the  gilding  of  the 
pill,"  she  went  on  bitterly,  "  this  is  what  makes  '  sin,' 


378  THE  GREEN  BA  Y  TREE. 

as  you  call  it — so  attractive.  Four  and  sixpence  a 
week,  a  garret  and  a  herrin',  working  from  dawn  to 
night, — that  was  what  virtue  had  to  offer  me,  so  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer :  I  chose  vice.  And," — looking 
around, — "can  you  wonder?" 

Gwendolen  shuddered, — shuddered  at  the  gulf  of 
degradation  which  seemed  to  yawn  at  her  very  feet. 
Sally  misinterpreted  the  gesture  and  applied  it  as  per- 
sonal to  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried  with  a  bitter  resentful  laugh.  "  I'm 
what  I  am,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own  it.  But  bad 
as  I  am,  I  don't  know  that  I'd  change  places  with  you. 
You  seem  precious  sure  of  being  in  the  right.  Well, 
you  may  be.  I  only  know  this  :  If  a  man  loved  me — 
worse  luck,  no  one  ever  has — or  if  I  loved  a  man,  hus- 
band or  no  husband,  I'd  stick  to  him  through  thick  and 
thin,  right  or  wrong,  good  or  bad,  rich  or  poor,  it'd 
make  no  difference  to  me.  If  he  was  bad  as  the  Devil, 
I'd  stick  to  him  just  the  same.  But  you,  with  your 
cantin'  and  psalm-singin',  just  because  of  one  little  slip, 
you  go  and  chuck  your  husband  over  like  an  old  shoe 
— and  leave  him  to  die  or  go  to  the  Devil  for  all  you 
care.  If  that's  being  good,  let  me  be  bad,  I  say ! " 

"  Oh,  spare  me,  spare  me,"  pleaded  Gwendolen  pite- 
ously,  looking  around  to  seek  some  means  of  escape. 
Every  one  of  these  reproaches,  coarsely  put  though  they 
were,  sped  home.  "  I'm  going  to  him — going  at  once 
— only  spare  me." 

The  look  of  anger  died  out  of  Sally's  face  in  an  in- 
stant. She  felt  herself  in  the  presence  of  some  great 
grief,  some  conflict  of  the  soul  she  could  not  fathom. 

"There,  there,"  she  said  soothingly,  "don't  mind 
what  I  say.  You  shouldn't  have  provoked  me.  I  only 
want  to  make  up  for  what  I've  done.  No  doubt  you 
thought  you  were  doing  right — though  how  you  could 
think  so  beats  me  into  a  cocked  hat.  But  then  I  am 
not  a  religious  woman,"  she  added  without  any  con- 
scious irony "  What  are  you  looking  about 

for  ?  You  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away.  I'm 
not  plague-stricken." 

"  I  must  go  to  him,"  cried  Gwendolen,  hardly  hearing 
what  the  other  was  saying.  "  Oh !  God  help  me  out 


THE  WOOD  OF  ST.  JOHN.  879 

of  this  wicked  house !  I  cannot  breathe,  cannot  think 
here." 

"  But  you  can't  go  like  this,"  remonstrated  Sally — 
"  here's  your  umbrella,  if  that's  what  you  are  looking 
for.  It's  not  seven  o'clock — the  servants  aren't  up  yet. 
If  you'll  wait  a  little  time,  and  have  some  breakfast,  I'll 
send  you  in  my  carriage.  You'll  never  find  your  way 
there  like  that." 

"  I  cannot  wait,  I  cannot  wait,"  reiterated  Gwen- 
dolen, looking  wildly  around  her.  "  Sixty- four,  Duchess 
Street,  Soho.  Did  you  hear  what  that  woman  said? 
He  may  be  dying  now — even  now — and  no  one  beside 
him.  Oh !  Wilfrid,  why  have  I  kept  away  from  you 
so  long  ?  Oh !  God  forgive  me !  " 

"  You  won't  forgive  me,"  said  Sally  meaningly. 

Gwendolen  turned  towards  her,  the  light  of  a  great 
renunciation  dawning  over  her  face. 

"  I  do  forgive  you,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  I  was  wrong. 
What  am  I  ? — I,  who  never  knew  your  hard  life,  nor 
your  temptations,  that  I  should  judge  you  ?  I  need 
forgiveness  more  than  you.  I  see  it  all  now — now — 
that  it  is  too  late." 

She  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Let  me  come  with  you  if  you  must  go,"  pleaded 
Sally  brokenly,  gulping  down  her  tears.  "  Let  me 
come  with  you — you  aren't  fit  to  go  by  yourself,  really 
you  aren't." 

But  Gwendolen  moved  her  gently  aside. 

"  I  must  go  alone,"  she  said — "  alone." 

Thus  she  left  her. 

And  yet — let  the  cynic  sneer  an  he  will — a  few  min- 
utes after  she  had  gone  out  in  the  gray  dulness  of  the 
cheerless  dawn  the  front  door  opened  again  to  let  out 
a  little  figure  cloaked  and  veiled,  who  followed  her — 
followed  her  all  the  way — afar  off. 


380  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE     LAST     STAGE. 

"Out — out,  brief  candle." — MACBETH. 

THE  fog-demon  brooded  over  everything  and  seemed 
to  stifle  the  morning  with  its  vampire  wings.  It  pene- 
trated everywhere,  creeping  with  stealthy,  resistless 
step  alike  into  West  End  mansions  and  East  End 
hovels.  Among  other  places  it  crept  up  the  evil-smell- 
ing stairs  of  Number  Sixty-four,  Duchess  Street,  Soho, 
and  penetrated  into  a  sordid  attic  on  the  topmost  floor. 

On  a  narrow  bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room  lay  the 
wreck  of  what  was  once  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel,  fighting 
his  last  fight  with  the  fell  disease  which  had  long  since 
marked  him  for  its  own.  The  gray  mist,  which  strag- 
gled in  through  the  dirty  yellow  blind,  was  too  thick 
to  admit  of  his  face  being  clearly  seen,  but  his  labored 
breathing  could  be  heard  smiting  the  silence,  broken 
at  intervals  by  a  terrible,  racking  cough.  Every  now 
and  then  he  would  turn  in  the  bed  and  draw  the 
scanty  covering  higher  around  him,  not  that  he  was 
cold — how  could  he  be  with  that  dry  fever  running  hot 
in  his  veins  ? — but  in  very  restlessness,  the  restlessness 
born  of  a  sleepless  night.  By  and  by,  his  hand 
groped  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed  for  the  cup  of  cold 
water  which  he  hoped  was  there  to  slake  his  thirst. 
He  lifted  it, — it  was  empty  !  There  was  plenty  more 
water  in  the  chipped  jug  which  stood  on  yonder  box — 
an  improvised  washstand.  But  he  had  not  the  energy 
to  get  out  of  bed  to  go  across  to  it.  He  gave  a  little 
weary  sigh — even  that  effort  brought  on  his  cough. 
Would  the  morning  never  come?  It  had  come  al- 
ready, but  he  knew  it  not,  the  dull  grayness  seemed  as 


THE  LAST  STAGE.  381 

night  to  him.  He  had  no  means  of  telling  the  time. 
His  watch  ?  That  had  gone  long  ago. 

At  last  a  heavy  step  was  heard  ascending  the  creak- 
ing stairs.  The  door  opened  in  response  to  a  shove 
from  without  and  a  stout,  red-faced  woman  elbowed 
her  way  in,  a  woman  in  a  greasy  cotton  frock  and 
sleeves  rolled  up  her  chapped  and  brawny  arms.  She 
was  another  specimen  of  that  horrible  genus,  the  cheap 
lodging-house  shark,  a  shade  lower  than  Tyrconnel's 
hostess  at  Bloomsbury,  because  a  shade  less  pros- 
perous. 

"'Ere's  yer  brekfus',"  she  panted,  in  a  coarse,  fat 
voice,  somewhat  wheezy  from  the  long  ascent;  and 
she  banged  down  upon  the  bed  a  battered  tray  on 
which  reposed  a  metal  teapot,  a  cup,  and  a  hunch  or 
two  of  thick  bread  and  butter.  "  And  'ere,"  plunging 
her  hand  into  a  capacious  pocket,  "  'ere's  yer  letters. 
P'r'aps  I'd  better  light  the  candle,  the  fog's  that  thick 
ye  can  hardly  see  yer  'and  afore  yer  face,  and  then  ye 
can  read  wot's  in  'em, — somethui'  good,  I  'opes  this 
time." 

She  proceeded  to  light  a  tallow  dip  with  a  brimstone 
match.  The  match  sent  forth  an  evil  smell ;  the 
candle  spluttered  and  flared  in  the  murky  gloom, 
throwing  weird,  misshapen  shadows  upon  the  wall. 
It  was  like  a  glimpse  of  Tophet,  or  one  of  William 
Blake's  studies  of  Hell. 

Tyrconnel  dragged  himself  up  in  the  bed  and, 
seizing  the  letters,  eagerly  began  to  break  the  seals. 
The  woman  crossed  her  brawny  arms  and  leaned 
back  against  the  wall,  watching  him  the  while  with 
a  sort  of  contemptuous  pity  in  which  a  gleam  of 
avarice  was  mingled. 

He  took  the  packets  in  his  trembling  hands.  The 
first  two  he  knew  alas  too  well, — rejected  MSS. 
They  had  been  backwards  and  forwards  many  a 
weary  time.  They  came  back  again  to  him  now, 
one  with  a  printed  form  of  conventional  regret,  the 
other  with  contemptuous  silence.  The  third  was  a 
bill  marked  "account  rendered,"  with  an  intimation 
that  legal  proceedings  would  be  taken.  They  must 
hurry,  he  thought  grimly;  he  would  be  out  of  the 


382  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 

reach  of  legal  proceedings  before  long.  The  last  was 
from  the  editor  of  a  leading  monthly  Review  on  whom 
he  had  staked  all  his  hopes.  His  paper  had  been 
accepted,  it  would  contain  the  cheque.  Alas !  no — 
"pressure  upon  our  space  compels  us  to  hold  the 
article  over  until  our  next  issue."  Oh !  this  was 
cruel !  .  .  .  .  The  letter  fell  from  his  nerveless  hands, 
all  the  light  died  out  of  his  face. 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  woman  interrogatively.  Then 
seeing  that  no  answer  came,  she  went  on  in  a  shriller 
key — "'Ev  yer  got  any  think  for  me,  or  'ev  yer  not? 
That's  wot  I  want  to  know.  Come — hout  with  it." 

"  I — I — "  faltered  Tyrconnel,  then  his  eyes  fell  upon 
another  letter  lying  on  the  blanket,  one  he  had  over- 
looked in  his  haste.  He  seized  it  as  a  starving  dog 
seizes  a  bone.  He  knew  the  handwriting;  it  was 
that  of  a  friend,  a  dear  friend  in  the  old  days,  to 
whom,  knowing  that  his  paper  was  accepted,  he  had 
written  in  his  dire  need,  and  after  a  fierce  struggle 
with  his  pride,  asking  for  a  trifling  loan  of  £10  until 
the  editor  should  send  him  a  cheque.  It  was  such 
a  small  favor — and  such  a  dear  friend !  Of  course  it 

was  granted but what  was  this? 

A  platitude  as  to  "  regret " a  lie  about  "  so 

many  claims  " a  false  hope  that  "  things  may 

soon  be  brighter  " that  was  all.  He  fell  back 

with  a  groan. 

"  Come,  hout  with  it,"  repeated  the  woman  again, 
more  insolently  this  time,  for  she  noted  how  the  blank 
grayness  had  crept  over  his  face. 

"  I — I — am  very  sorry,"  he  faltered,  "  more  sorry 
than  I  can  say.  They  promised,  you  know,  to  put 
my  article  in,  and  I  had  hoped  they  would  have  sent 
me  a  cheque,  but  it  has  been  held  over  until  next 
month — and — 

"  'Eld  over  till  next  month !  "  screeched  the  landlady 
in  her  coarse,  strident  voice — "  and  so  I'm  to  be 
'eld  over  till  next  month  too,  I  s'pose  ?  Not  if  I  knows 
it.  That's  a  tale  I've  'eard  once  too  often, — I  can  tell 
yer." 

"  But — but,  you  see  what  they  say,"  gasped  Tyrcon- 
nel, holding  out  the  letter,  "  They  will  put  it  in  next 


THE  LAST  STAGE.  383 

month — really  they  will,  and  then  I  shall  be  able  to 
pay  you." 

"  1  don't  care  when  they  put  it  in,"  she  said,  nicking 
the  letter  contemptuously  aside.  "  Wot  I  wants  to 
know  is  when  Fm  goin'  to  put  some  o'  your  tin  into 
my  pocket.  'Ere's  three  an'  a  narf  weeks  owin'  for 
rent,  let  alone  yer  keep,  an'  all  sorts  o'  hextras  which 
I've  got  yer,  too.  I  won't  go  on  no  longer.  If  I  don't 
'ave  somethink  on  account  by  to-night — out  yer  goes, 
so  there !  " 

She  stuck  her  arms  akimbo  and  faced  him  with 
angry  eyes. 

She  was  not  a  bad-hearted  woman — at  least  not 
worse  than  her  kind,  only  the  struggle  for  existence 
was  pretty  hard  on  her  too.  Years  of  keeping  a  cheap 
lodging-house  and  of  haggling  with  prostitutes  and 
penniless  clerks  had  blunted  her  finer  feelings — such 
as  they  had  been. 

"  I — I — "  panted  Tyrconnel,  looking  round  like  a 
rat  caught  in  a  trap — "  I  will  go  out  and  see  \vhat  I 

can "  Here  the  cough  came  and  choked  his 

utterance.  He  lay  gasping,  panting  for  breath,  clutch- 
ing the  air  with  his  wasted  hands. 

The  woman  eyed  him  with  stony  indifference ;  his 
sufferings  only  seemed  to  add  to  her  exasperation. 

"  Go  hout ! "  she  echoed,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 
"Yes,  yer'll  go  hout  sure  enough,  I'll  see  to  that — 
go  to  the  'orsepital  if  they'll  'ave  yer,  or  into  the 
work'us,  where  yer  ought  to  'ave  gone  long  afore. 
You  ain't  fit  for  nothin'  else.  I  ain't  agoin'  to  'ave 
no  corpses  knockin'  about  'ere  and  so  I  tells  yer.  I've 

'ad  enough  trouble  with  yer  already Well,  I'll 

leave  yer  to  think  it  over.  I  can't  waste  the  morning 
talkin'  to  the  likes  o'  you.  When  I  comes  back,  hout 
yer  go." 

So  saying,  she  snatched  up  the  untasted  breakfast 
and  bounced  out  of  the  room. 

Left  to  himself,  Tyrconnel  buried  his  face  in  the 
dirty  pillow,  trying  to  shut  out  light,  sound,  every- 
thing. There  comes  a  point  past  suffering,  a  dead 
apathy  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  phrase.  He 
had  reached  it  now.  All  through  the  weary  months 


384  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE, 

which  had  passed  since  we  saw  him  last,  he  had  been 
fighting  his  hand-to-hand  fight  with  adversity  and 
disease,  but  the  struggle  was  too  hard.  He  had  been 
beaten  at  last,  not  in  the  spirit  but  in  the  body.  It 
was  this  physical  weakness  which  had  dragged  him 
down.  In  spirit,  Tyrconnel  would  struggle  on  to  the 
last,  but  the  body  had  refused  to  do  its  bidding. 

With  that  obstinacy,  which — paradoxical  though  it 
may  seem — one  finds  sometimes  in  the  most  emotional 
natures,  he  resisted  still.  Perhaps  his  pride  helped 
him  too,  a  pride  inherited  from  his  mother.  And  yet, 
— the  thought  struck  him  once  more, — he  had  only  to 
make  a  sign,  to  own  his  failure,  to  make  known  his 
need  to  Lord  Baltinglass,  and  this  sordid  garret,  this 
brutal  landlady,  these  hideous  surroundings,  would  van- 
ish like  magic,  and  he  would  find  himself  surrounded 
by  everything  that  wealth,  and  luxury,  and  medical 
skill  could  give.  But  he  thrust  the  thought  from  him 
with  passionate  scorn.  He  had  suffered  so  much, — 
could  he  not  suffer  a  little  more  ?  A  few  days,  maybe 
a  few  hours — and  then  nothing  this  earth  could  give, 
nothing  this  cruel  world  could  do,  would  matter  to 
him  any  more.  Earthly  prosperity  seems  so  small  a 
thing  in  the  presence  of  the  King  of  Terrors.  No,  all 
things  might  fail  him,  but  he  would  at  least  keep  his 
self-respect.  He  would  die  without  making  one  sign 
more  to  the  relatives  who  had  spurned  him,  the  wife 
who  had  abandoned  him.  Better  torture,  better 
hunger,  better  death — better  anything  than  that,  to 
crawl  back  as  a  suppliant  with  that  most  pitiful  word 
"  failure  "  branded  on  his  brow. 

Brave  thoughts  indeed  !  Then  there  rose  up  to 
mock  them  the  vision  of  that  coarse-voiced  woman 
worrying  for  her  rent,  clamoring  like  Shylock  for 
her  pound  of  flesh.  Unless  he  could  find  something 
to  stop  her  voracious  maw,  the  vulture  would  not  even 
let  him  die  in  peace.  But  how?  The  thought  struck 
him  like  an  inspiration.  If  he  went  to  the  editor  of 
the  Review  which  had  accepted  his  paper  and  told 
him  his  need,  surely  he  would  give  him  a  cheque. 
Editors  were  but  human  after  all,  and  then — it  would 
not  be  begging,  the  work  was  done  and  approved,  the 


THE  LAST  STAGE.  885 

payment  was  due.  Full  of  this  new  idea  he  threw  off 
the  blanket,  and  got  out  of  bed.  Alas !  he  had  reckoned 
without  that  laggard  body.  A  few  steps  convinced 
him  of  the  futility,  the  impossibility  of  the  task.  His 
feet  tottered,  his  knees  gave  way  ....  that  awful 
cough  seized  him  again,  shaking  his  very  frame.  He 
tried  to  stand  up  against  it ;  he  fell  back  exhausted  on 
the  bed. 

It  was  true  then — what  this  woman  had  said — he 
must  die,  die  in  a  hospital  or  a  workhouse — die  with 
the  task  he  had  set  himself  to  do  unfinished,  with 
his  life-work  just  begun.  Sheridan  had  died  thus  in 
poverty,  with  the  bailiffs  tugging  at  his  sheets,  but  then 
Sheridan  had  done  his  work,  had  accomplished  some- 
thing, which  would  last  through  all  time,  handing  his 
name  down  to  posterity  an  imperishable  monument 
among  men.  But  he,  he  had  done  nothing — his  name, 
as  poor  Keats  had  said  in  his  unprophetic  soul — his 
name  was  "writ  in  water."  If  the  remnant  of  life 
were  so  hard,  wherefore  should  he  live  it  ?  His  eyes 
travelled  around  the  room,  but  there  was  nothing — 
nothing  whereby  he  might  end  his  misery  ....  unless 

it  were  that  blunt  razor  lying  on  yonder  box 

There  was  a  struggle  ....  then  he  thrust  the  thought 
from  him  in  very  weariness  of  soul.  Why  take  the 
trouble  to  ante-date  a  process,  which  Nature  would 
herself  perform  so  soon  ? 

With  a  groan  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  The 
room  grew  darker  and  darker  ....  the  fog  crept 
closer  and  closer.  .  .  .  Exhausted  by  this  conflict  of 
emotion,  he  sank  into  a  semi-stupor 

There  was  a  sound  of  hurried  feet  upon  the  stairs. 
Not  the  landlady — he  knew  her  heavy,  deliberate 
step,  the  resounding  smack  with  which  her  feet 
hailed  each  successive  landing  but  too  well.  Some  one 
opened  the  door.  .  .  . 

Who  was  this?  The  sordid  garret  seemed  sud- 
denly flooded  with  light.  .  .  .  Who  was  this  on  her 
knees  beside  his  bed,  raining  kisses  on  his  wasted 
hand,  murmuring  broken  words  of  contrition  and  pity 
and  love. 

'  25 


386  THE  GREEN  SAY  TREE. 

"  Wilfrid — my  husband — forgive  me — speak  to  me. 
It  is  I,  Gwendolen,  who  loves  you  so.  Oh !  forgive 
me— forgive  me." 

"  Gwendolen !  .  .  .  .  Thank  God !  "  he  whispered.  A 
great  light  broke  over  all  his  face.  He  held  open 
his  arms.  With  a  low  cry  of  happiness  she  fell 
upon  his  breast. 

That  was  all.  There  were  no  reproaches,  no  ex- 
planations, no  theological  disquisitions  any  more.  In 
that  mute  embrace  all  was  forgotten  and  forgiven. 
After  long  grief  and  pain  it  seemed  so  sweet  to  lie 
here,  lip  to  lip,  heart  to  heart,  oblivious  of  every- 
thing except  their  mutual  love.  The  hours  wore  on, 
the  fog  crept  closer  and  closer — it  had  no  terrors 
now — yet  still  they  rested  here,  babbling  their  pas- 
sion with  broken  words — words  too  sacred  to  phrase 
— coherent  only  to  themselves.  Life  had  something 
left  for  them  after  all ! 

"And  you  have  corne  back,  really  and  truly— 
never  to  leave  me  more  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Never — never,"  she  whispered  through  her  rain- 
ing tears.  "  Oh  !  Wilfrid,  the  scales  have  fallen  from 
my  eyes  at  last.  I  know  all.  I  know  myself.  What 
was  I,  that  I  should  abandon  you?  Who  was  I, 
that  I  should  judge  you?  I,  who  thought  myself 
the  follower  of  One,  who  said,  '•tTadge  notf  I,  who, 
when  I  deemed  myself  nearest,  was  farthest  from 
Him — cold,  hard,  unforgiving,  wrapped  in  my  armor 
of  spiritual  pride,  false  to  His  teaching,  false  to 

you pity  me,  and  forgive  me.  I  cannot  forgive 

myself." 

For  all  answer  he  stroked  her  bowed  head,  not 
trusting  himself  to  speak.  The  gesture  in  itself  was 
full  and  perfect  absolution. 

"  You  will  not  leave  me,  dear  one,  never  again," 
he  repeated  with  strained  insistence,  "never  again 
while  life  lasts.  ...  It  will  not  be  long." 

His  words  struck  a  chill  to  her  heart.  She  drew 
him  nearer  to  her,  nearer. 

All  through  the  next  two  days  she  never  left 
his  side,  ministering  to  his  needs,  anticipating  his 


THE  LA8T  STAGE.  387 

every  wish,  bartering  even  her  wedding  ring  to  get 
him  food,  fighting  hand  to  hand  against  the  fell  dis- 
ease which  was  stalking  him  down,  sending  up  ever 
from  her  heart  voiceless  prayers  to  the  Great  White 
Throne  that  this  cup  might  pass  away.  With  his 
consent  she  wrote  to  Lord  Baltinglass,  bidding  him  come 
quickly — in  the  dread  presence  of  the  King  of  Terrors 
all  lesser  evils  seemed  to  vanish,  all  past  bitterness  to 
melt  away. 

But  alas !  Lord  Baltinglass  was  in  Algiers  with  Miss 
Tyrconnel,  still  hugging  his  wounded  self-love  and  his 
resentment  against  his  son.  When  the  letter  reached 
him  it  was  too  late 

It  was  towards  the  evening  of  the  third  day. 
They  had  been  talking  of  the  old  happy  time  at  Cam- 
bridge and  their  brief  love-dream  until  Wilfrid's  cough 
came  on  again  and  she  would  let  him  talk  no  more. 
He  was  resting  now,  the  cold  gray  day  was  slowly 
dying.  Gwendolen  had  drawn  a  chair  near  the  window, 
the  better  to  see  in  the  fading  light.  She  was  reading 
aloud  in  that  soft,  low  voice  of  hers,  the  wondrous 
twenty-sixth  chapter  of  Isaiah  : — 

"  I  have  redeemed  thee,  I  have  called  thee  by  thy 
name  ;  thou  art  mine. 

"  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be 
with  thee;  and  through  the  rivers  they  shall  not  over- 
flow thee  /  when  thou  walJcest " 

There  was  a  movement  from  the  still  figure  on  the 
bed.  Suddenly  he  sprang  up  with  a  loud  cry : 

"  Gwendolen — Gwendolen — ! " 

She  ran  to  him  and  threw  her  arms  around  him,  as 
though  she  fain  would  keep  him  with  her  through  the 
very  strength  of  her  love. 

"  Wilfrid,— dear  one,"  she  wailed.  "What  is  it? 
speak  to  me.  Look  at  me, — only  one  word.  Oh! 
Wilfrid— Wilfrid." 

But  no  answer  came.  The  lips  quivered  mutely  but 
could  not  speak ;  a  wan  smile  of  peaceful  trusting  broke 
over  the  poor  thin  face ;  with  a  tired  sigh  his  head  fell 
upon  her  breast. 

The  troubled  soul  of  Wilfrid  Tyrconnel  had  passed 
through  the  dark  waters — and  had  at  last  found  peace. 


388  THE  GREEN  BAY  TREE. 


L'ENVOI. 

A  CHEERLESS  day  followed  a  gusty  night.  There  had 
been  a  downpour  all  the  morning  of  driving  rain  and 
sleet,  but  in  the  afternoon  the  clouds  lifted  some- 
what and  the  rain  ceased,  though  no  gleam  of  sun- 
shine pierced  the  all-pervading  grayness.  A  cutting 
east  wind  swept  down  the  Bayswater  Road,  driving 
Gwendolen  before  it,  making  her  draw  her  shabby 
cloak  more  closely  around  her  as  she  went  along.  Her 
slight  figure  was  bowed  with  grief,  her  face  was  white 
as  the  pale  snowdrops  she  carried  in  her  hand — a  few 
she  had  purchased  with  her  spare  coppers  at  a  dingy 
shop  in  the  Westbourne  Grove, — her  votive  offering  to 
the  dead. 

What  was  she  doing  in  the  public  streets,  this 
widow  of  a  _  day  ?  Surely  at  such  a  time  the 
mourner  would  tarry,  sorrow-stricken  in  her  chamber, 
striving  to  hide  her  grief  from  every  eye.  Alas  ! 
dire  poverty  does  not  give  much  time  for  the  luxury 
of  woe ;  it  has  scant  ceremony  for  mourners'  tears. 
The  last  sad  offices  had  to  be  performed  and,  when 
one  cannot  pay  other  people  to  do  them,  one  must 
needs  see  to  them  oneself.  So  Gwendolen  had  torn 
herself  away  from  the  death  chamber,  and  trudged 
all  the  way  from  Soho  to  her  Bayswater  lodging. 
She  had  a  few  trinkets  there, — all  her  most  cher- 
ished possessions.  She  was  going  to  pawn  them  now, 
so  that  she  might  satisfy  the  lodging-house  woman's 
claims  and  give  her  loved  one  a  decent  burial.  He 
should  not  rest  in  that  dreary  city  of  the  dead,  a 
London  cemetery,  surrounded  by  streets  and  squares 
and  alleys  of  gravestones.  No,  she  would  take 
him  down  to  Cambridge,  to  the  little  country 
churchyard  of  Grantchester,  the  church  where  they 
had  been  married, — the  place  where  her  dear 
father  lay.  There  in  some  quiet  corner  she  would 


L'ENVOL  389 

lay  him  to  rest,  to  sleep  until  the  Resurrection  day. 
He  would  have  wished  it  thus,  rather  than  in  the 
great,  dreary  vault  at  Blarney,  with  all  the  pomp 
of  paid  woe.  And  she  would  lay  him  to  his  rest  alone. 
There  should  be  no  false  friends, — friends  who  had 
shunned  him  in  his  misfortunes, — to  come  and  shed 
their  crocodile  tears  around  his  grave.  They  would 
come  fast  enough  now,  for  they  would  know  that  he 
wanted  nothing  of  them  any  more.  The  dead  do  not 
borrow,  the  dead  do  not  need. 

So  thought  Gwendolen  as  she  hurried  along, 
grudging  every  moment  which  kept  her  from  the  bed- 
side of  her  dead.  "  God  grant  it  may  not  be  long 
before  I  rejoin  him,"  she  prayed.  The  blankness  of 
desolation  lay  upon  her. 

She  had  reached  Hyde  Park  Terrace,  and  was  cross- 
ing the  road  just  by  the  Marble  Arch,  when  a  warning 
shout  from  a  policeman  made  her  pause  mid- way.  A 
carriage  dashed  past,  a  neatly  appointed  Victoria  with 
a  smart  coachman  on  the  box.  It  came  so  near  that  it 
splashed  her  with  mud  almost  from  head  to  foot. 
Gwendolen  looked  up  indignantly. 

There  were  two  people  inside,  clad  in  warm  furs, 
wrapped  round  with  a  luxurious  bear-skin  rug.  They 
were  so  engrossed  with  one  another  that  they  did  not 
see  her.  The  man  was  talking  with  animation,  the 
woman  was  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  happy  smile 
playing  around  her  lips.  They  were  Walpole  Coryton 
and  his  wife. 

It  was  only  an  instant,  and  then  the  carriage  swept 
through  the  gates  into  the  park,  leaving  Gwendolen 
standing  there  alone. 

A  great  flood  of  bitterness  poured  over  her  soul. 
Some  chord  in  her  memory  vibrated.  Back  on  her  ears 
there  rang  in  mocking  irony  the  words  of  the 
Psalmist : 

"  I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old :  yet  have  I  not 
seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread" 

Then  she  wiped  the  mud  from  her  face  and  went  on 
again. 

THE    END. 


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